Dragonlance Tales, Vol. 3 – Love and War

upon scores of Seron’s image. Seron in every imaginable

pose and activity. But Tosch’s gaze kept coming back to the

picture on the easel. The paint on that one was still wet. He

knew that this had been Kyra’s last, impassioned work.

He had never known, never guessed, what she had been

painting all these years. Even now, staring at the evidence

of Kyra’s lifelong devotion to Seron, Tosch could only

shake his head in wonder. He couldn’t quite understand how

she could have loved Seron so much. But then again, maybe

he could. After all, didn’t he love her in his own way, too?

He felt his wings quivering and he knew he was going

to do a rare thing – he was going to cry. Kyra had meant so

much to him, and he had done so little for her. He felt

suddenly ashamed, realizing that he had been selfish,

always taking. Why didn’t he give her gold dust for her

clothes? Why didn’t he chisel her teeth, too? He could have

done all sorts of things for her. But he hadn’t. And what

could he give her now?

He stared at her limp, cold body and then lifted his gaze

to the painting of Seron. Then he looked a bit closer . . .

Something was missing. The picture didn’t seem quite

right. He studied it for a long, quiet moment, trying to

discover what was overlooked.

Ah, I know what it is, Tosch said to himself. It’s so

obvious! He spoke a magical incantation and then slapped

his tail against the ground three times.

Kyra was in the picture with Seron. Now it was right.

They were laughing and crying in each other’s arms

alive in their art. Within the bounds of the canvas, Seron

and Kyra were living, breathing, loving souls.

Tosch flapped his wings with joy. He had made Kyra

happy. When he turned to fly away, he heard Seron say to

his beloved, “You are ALL the woman I had hoped you

would be.”

“Now THAT’S a good painting,” said the dragon as he

flew off into the night. “Then again,” he mused as he

soared among the clouds, “a little more color wouldn’t

have hurt”

Hunting Destiny

Nick O’Donohoe

By daylight, the stag, with an effort of will, appeared to

the knight. The knight’s enthusiasm was gratifying, if

anything could please in Darken Wood. The knight even

mentioned Huma’s having followed the stag. The stag

moved forward on Prayer’s Eye Peak, knowing the knight

and his companions would follow. If it was his destiny to lead, it

was others’ to follow him.

But they did not follow immediately. With

one ear he heard the company debating behind him. The half-elf said,

“Though I have not seen the white stag myself, I have been

with one who has and I have followed it, as in the story the

old man told at the Inn of the Last Home.”

The stag, turning to look, saw the half-elf fingering a

ring of twisted ivy leaves, presumably because it reminded

him of his former companion who had seen the stag.

Neither half-elf nor ring brought any memory to the stag.

The mage among them, a robed figure with hourglass

eyes, spoke more of the story they had heard, apparently a

few nights ago, at an inn. An old man had told how Huma,

lost in a forest, prayed to Paladine. A white stag had

appeared and led him home. “That I remember,” the stag

thought, “but I had thought no other living being did.

Whatever man they met was old indeed, though if he were

older, he would remember it as song, not story.” A pang of

regret for simpler days and easier faith swept over the stag,

much as it sweeps over old men for times gone by. He

shook his rack of antlers fiercely and kept listening.

The dwarf with the company snorted, almost like an

animal himself. “You believe old stories? Here’s another,

then: Once there was a stag who caused Shadow Wood to

turn to Darken Wood.”

Another companion squatted on the trail, his ears

pricked forward. “Nothing like a good story. When was this,