The Long Retreat No. 29

Alfhilde tucked the knife into her boot, then found the ends of the rope and set about tying one to a stout tree which leaned out toward the far bank. Falthejn knelt and did the same. He tested his knot, leaning back against the rope, and rose to found Alfhilde doing the same. Satisfied, she looked to him, and said, “I am ready.”

Falthejn nodded. He cleared pine needles away from the ground on which he stood, then drew with his finger, inscribing circles into the dirt. He planted his feet, spoke a few syllables in aelfish, and held out his hand. Invisible tendrils of force unwound from his fingertips, some weaving together beneath Alfhilde’s feet, and others wrapping themselves securely around points in the sky. The two groups came together, knotting to each other. Falthejn turned his wrist and focused on one of the symbols in the dirt. The tendrils pulled tighter, and Alfhilde’s feet left the ground.

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