<em>He shakes his head, eyes seeming distant as he stares into the blaze of the setting sun.<br/><br/>"No. I'm telling the truth, Fayne. I wasn't raised the way you were. Believe it or not, I was, long ago, a city-dweller."<br/><br/>This should catch her by surprise. The only stories she's ever been told of her father's past were usually by her Uncle (well, not really her Uncle, but, then, he was as close to her father as a brother) Valerian, the bard of their little heroic band, the Dawnbreak Circle, one of the greatest bastions of hope during the Second War. And those were war stories, stories of glory and valor and magic. Of the legacy to be passed to her.<br/><br/>"I didn't fit in well with the druids, not then. I was wild, rebellious. Daring... too daring. I charged in headlong into every spell, wanting the elements crackling at my fingertips, always seeing them as tools, never as the natural forces, the primal works of art that they were. I wanted the power of the beast, not to become at one with the beast. I wanted to learn to destroy my enemies, not defend those I cared about... because, then, I thought I had already lost all I cared about."<br/><br/>His tone is serious, yet, there's a hint of self-deprecating amusement in it, as if he were watching some young fool stumbling along through the forest.</em>