When they had jostled their way down the trunk of the tree, Merlyn's ears picked up the faint sounds of rustling in the undergrowth. He reached for the little hunting knife at his belt, pursing his young lips in a look of concentration. Taliesin was about to burst out laughing at his expression but shot Merlyn a fearful look when he saw the boy was serious. They drew closer together for comfort and Merlyn held his breath, the frizz of Taliesin's hair tickling his nose. The smell of the forest surrounded them, the moss, the trees, the earth, and decaying leaves. Then a straight backed older man burst from the underbrush, a thick oak walking stick clutched in one hand. His forest green tunic and trousers made him blend in with the darker patches of leaves, but his light hair, graying thoroughly, stuck out obviously.

Merlyn sighed internally. His uncle had finally found him. It was time. There was little he could do to escape what happened next. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted to. Taliesin bobbed a respectful head nod to Merlyn's uncle while Merlyn tried to shrink into the shadows. "Nice to see you, Master Bran. Is it time for Merlyn to leave?" he said, voice at once containing that eerie tone of too old knowledge and a young boy's query. Bran smiled at Taliesin, his gray eyes bright as he looked at the boy.

"Nice to see you as well, young Taliesin. I see you're as positive as ever. Much different from my nephew there behind you, trying to slink off into the woods while I wasn't paying attention," he said, raising his voice so Merlyn would be fully aware he was included in that conversation as well. Cheeks burning, he stared at the trees beyond. Bran chuckled, an easy noise that filled the sudden silence. "You're nervous, aren't you boy? I understand. You've got a big night ahead of you," he said. Taliesin patted Merlyn's arm encouragingly.

"Don't worry, I'll see you when all of this is over, okay?" he said. Merlyn avoided his gaze. He didn't want to see the sharpness that the blue eyes could hold. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to go with Bran, but he didn't make a fuss as his uncle towed him away by one arm. Taliesin was left standing behind them in the forest, face shrouded in the shadows of the trees. And for all the world, Merlyn felt...no knew, in his bones, that in that instant there was something much, much older than his friend looking back at him.

He shivered. Sometimes Taliesin scared him sometimes. But he knew why. The boy had been to the Otherworld and back many many times. There was no avoiding a little bit of oddness, especially since he remembered those lives. He turned, following his uncle deeper into the woods towards the clearing where Bran and the rest of the drwyds in the Grove would initiate Merlyn into their ranks. After that, he'd have a little bit of oddness of his own. It made him sick to his stomach half of the time, and he scratched grumpily at the itch from his homespun tunic sleeves. His uncle cast him a glance, his gold and silver hair framing a strong jawline and a short cropped silver beard.

Since his father had always been away at court in Camelot, which was very far away, he had practically been raised by Bran. That didn't stop him from missing his father. As he stepped over a root, he thought of how he would one day take his father's place as the Court Drwyd. The title was not just a formality. The Court Drwyd was an advisor, a thinker, and a magic worker all in one. Issues of war, money, and all mundane matters were advised upon by the Court Drwyd's extensive knowledge. This knowledge was only made greater by the additional studies he or she did while staying at Court, studying in the libraries the Christian monks kept.

What the monks didn't know is that the drwyd could see past their renditions of the Old Tales into the truth behind their Christianized versions, keeping the legacy that they tried to hide alive. Trained in oral traditions, the drwyd was a master at memorizing things, or so they said. Merlyn wasn't bad at memorizing a tale or two, but the idea of having to memorize whole books in a large library on top of the other knowledge he'd already learned seemed like a daunting task. The wind was picking up, and the trees around them creaked eerily, the fluttering of their leaves sounding like voices. Bran smiled down at him, moving his hand from around the boy's arm to clasp on his shoulder warmly.

"Don't worry, Merlyn. You have the gift the Earth Mother grants. The forest recognizes you are about to learn how to hear its voice. Nothing more. Have no fear," he said, voice full of warm assurance. Merlyn realized he'd been stiffening his shoulders and let some of that tension drain away. Bran's smile widened. "There you go. Don't worry. There's nothing to fear. It is just like coming home. You've been raised in this tradition already. You'be heard our stories. You've sung our songs. Your best friend has the gift of prophecy, and who knows what else! You're more prepared for this night than you know," he continued.

They walked in silence after that for a few more meters, but the forest around them no longer seemed unsettling. Despite dark falling, the trees that pressed around on all sides seemed to be greeting him rather than reaching out to grab him. A leaf spiralled down from somewhere above and brushed against his shoulder before falling to the forest floor. The first bit of excitement trickled into the worry. He would soon learn to speak the language of trees. His uncle gestured ahead of them into the darkness. "Look," he said, a flash of white teeth in the dim.