Neverwinter Forest annabel lee

Had Cypress been patient enough to listen to his father’s just and compassionate assessment of the situation, he might not have acted so rashly, setting wheels into motion that would forever alter his psyche. Perhaps if he had listened, he would not have set the small shadow into flight — and perhaps then his relationship with his brother would not be set upon with strain and his parents would not have been so harried — and perhaps then Lucy might have lived in the Neverwinter Forest with her two protectors until her wounds had fully healed. But Cypress was, despite his vast vocabulary and burgeoning survival skills, a very young boy — and the idea that this wolf might take Lucy from them — that any wolf might take Lucy from them — had him acting out, giving over to the kneejerk reaction to bite and bite hard the foe he perceived. Gangly legs spurred him messily forward as he snaked out his head and attempted to snap at Trick’s forelimb, but a measure of decorum and fear pulled his punch; he was not likely to hit anything but air, and he cast out a defiant, “She will never go with you! I’ll never let you take her!” before he wheeled about and burst from the scene on paws that were made for speed and endurance. “Lucy! Lucy!” he hissed, all pretense of subterfuge lost as he barreled through the forest with babyish tears stinging his eyes.

The fledgling winged through the forest, every second that ticked by causing a finer edge of agitation to shred his nerves to ribbons. The idea of losing Lucy was inconceivable — painfully so — and despite small bruises and cuts that flayed him as he barreled through bramble and underbrush he continued to call her name.

And when he found her, he commanded her to do as burgeoning instinct bade her: run.