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The old man sits outside his cabin on a rock near the porch, the rock covered entirely in runes and magical symbols, some as old as the First Age....
"I fear there will be none left to fight the forsaken, it has been so long", he whispers to himself. He hears wings in the sky in a fast flurry of flight, and turns his blind eyes to the noise. "Back so soon, are we? I fear that does not bode well," he mutters as the hawk gently lands on his knee, and chirps at him, waiting for him to take the message it has brought back.
As the old man reads the missive, eight more hawks return and as he reads each missive in turn, his anger grows......."Dead, gone, cannot be reached" He angrily slams his fists to the rock, a melodious sound arising and the hawks scatter, only to light back by his feet, concern on their faces as they watch him.
As one they enter his mind, "~but you forget, one has not come back, and that one flies swift to the one that is really the only chance we have~".....
He turns his blind eyes to the ground and smiles at his beloved hawks, reaching into his tattered robe pulling out food and tossing it on the ground...
"Yes, my little ones, you are right....She is the only chance we may have...."
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