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By Capwi - SUBSCRIBER - December 23, 2012, 11:15:24
It wasn’t very much, but at least it was something. The light brightened a little. Something was good. It could work with something.

The lumberjack swung again, axe gripped firmly in his hands. The edge bit into the tree, spitting chips of wood from the impact. He repeated the motion. The axe head slid smoothly into the initial cut, slamming further into the trunk. His movements were practiced, fluid. He had done this for most of his life, and it was easy. His name was Tam.

It is a good name.

He felled trees for a living. The group he worked for took those trees to the lumberyards to saw them up into logs. It didn’t pay very much, not with the usual Ash and Chestnut loads, but it was enough. He liked his life.

His name is Tam. The Meridia was hesitant to continue, for all that it was the one proposing the transaction. He’s a good sort. Don’t be too harsh with him.

Depends on how amenable he is. I don’t ask much. The light flickered a little.

I’m sure. The Meridia’s tone was dry. It suited it, considering its role as the patron of those that handled the killing of trees and the crafting of lifeless wood

The light guttered, then flared tall. You have what I promised. Now give him to me.

The greyish blob sighed. There. He’s yours. The Meridia retreated back to the Pantheon.

Tam swung his axe, the same way he’d swung it a thousand times before. Unlike the previous thousand swings, this one landed badly. The axe head lodged in the wood, the force wrenching it out of his hands. Splinters flew; some lodged in his palms, sprouting tiny tricklets of blood.

Tam ground his teeth and grabbed hold of the axe, yanking it out of the trunk, bearing the pain in his hands. Again he swung, a little shaken, but still confident in his movements. The hatchet slammed into the tree. Another tear opened in the trunk. This was be but one of the many that followed Tam’s blows. Not a single cut landed twice in the same place, not one speck of his previously adept grasp of the lumberjack’s craft remained. Bleeding palms, bruised fingers, pride and all, Tam fell against the tree, which by now was bleeding sap from shallow cuts. Frustration drove him to hit his head against its trunk, cursing his luck.

The light saw it as potential. It saw it as opportunity. From the ether to the realm it leapt, a dash of it infusing the lumberjack’s blood, causing it to run in patterns. It whispered in his ear a prayer of strength and endurance. She spoke to him and in return, he gave her his belief.

The Sacrier goddess rose but slightly in the ranks of the pantheon. One step up from being a minor deity. It was, after all, just one prophet. But it was a good start.
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