by P. S. Power
That idea, that he, the kid from the woods, the apprentice wood worker who mainly just kept the roads up, might be that kind of important shook him for a few seconds. After all, he wasn’t anyone really. Will was, in the end, just like everyone else.
Which didn’t change anything at all.
Either he, and the people on their side, stopped The Adversaries, or they lost everything. Forever. The idea was dismal, but looking around, he smiled anyway. For the moment, a few minutes, he was home again. Then, knowing it had to be done, he touched the handheld in his right palm, activating it.
Doing anything else might well mean that his home would be going away, all too soon.
That wasn’t going to be allowed to happen.
Not if he could help it.
