The deep voice of the stag echoed in his mind for a long while, causing him to wonder if he was indeed yet awake. He felt lethargically energized; content and comfortable. The bubbling water filled his ears, blooming Sythus filled his nose, and Istisha?s presence filled his soul.
He rolled over languidly, breathed deep of the morning, and sat up, rubbing his slightly itchy eyes. The sacred grove was beautiful and serene. He crawled the few feet to where the water bubbled up from below and dunked his head full under the chill waters, rubbing his face vigorously with his calloused hands. Surfacing, he shook his head briskly, dislodging the cobwebs that yet filled his mind, then he flattened his hair unceremoniously.
Maccabeus looked about the reborn grove; Istisha had replenished the Ring of Mists as only she could.
A cool Sythus morning breeze caressed the now-thick carpet of grass. The bramble that had been so utterly violated was lush and vibrant. Its long sinuous tendrils bore softly colored flowers that began red and faded to deep violet at the petal tips. Maccabeus was heartened to see that the floor of thick ash that had befouled the pathway through the bramble had been re-created into a thick, lush layer of healthy grass.
His large brown eyes alit upon the little turbulent pool of bluish water. Maccabeus smiled at himself as he only had just come to realize that the small pool of water was something of an oddity among this grove of oddities. It bubbled merrily, rising from some unseen and unknowable subterranean source and returning there. Very likely as merrily as it came forth. Maccabeus thought wryly. The gurgling pool filled the crisp morning air with a light, ubiquitous, refreshing mist.
Something nagged at the back of his mind; something that he had still to do. ?I don?t know, friend.? He said to wolf. ?I think that giant stag told me to do something, but I?ll be darned if I can recall it.? As if in answer to the little gnome?s wonder, wolf plodded over to Maccabeus and poked him in the chest with his broad nose. Maccabeus was startled to find that wolf?s nose seemed made of sharp metal. Then, he recalled: he was to place the medallion on the center stone here in the Ring. He looked down into his shirt at the medallion, yet depending about his neck, and saw that it had indeed broken into four separate pendants, all hung from the same golden chain.
But there was more: the medallion, it seemed, had left some mark upon his chest hair. He removed his sturdy shirt and turned himself toward the rising sun. Indeed the medallion had left a mark upon his chest. There, echoed in hairless relief like a tattoo upon his skin was the shape of the original medallion - four crescents in a circle all pointing out from the center. More incredulous, those crescents were colored. Maccabeus?s eyes popped as he surveyed the four crescents a yellowish-red one whose horns pointed towards his left, an emerald green one pointed downwards, a sapphire blue one pointed towards his right, and pointed towards his head the last one whose gray color shone light against Maccabeus?s ruddy skin.
Maccabeus?s mind stopped just then. He was no longer aware of the passage of time. Kossuth had breached the eastwall by the time wolf poked Maccabeus in the chest again and brought his little friend back to conscious thought. ?Do you see this?? Maccabeus asked his friend. Wolf barked lightly at Maccabeus and pushed him towards the center stone of the Ring. The golden stag?s words returned to him then: ??the medallions will be placed by you upon the center stone of the circle in their honored positions.?
It all seemed pretty clear now. He slowly approached the tall stone that dominated the center of the Ring of Mists, removing, as he went, the four pendants from the golden chain that the mystic stag had given him. As he neared the huge obelisk, he noted as if for the first time the engraved recesses ? one on each side ? that were each the same shape and size of the crescents from the necklace. It was rather obvious to him what must be done. Thankfully, he thought, those recesses are a mere cubit above my head. It was indeed as though he were intended to do this job, as the stag had alluded last night.
Taking up the mercurial stoney crescent, which represented Grumbar, and standing as tall as he could, he placed the crescent on the appropriate carved crescent. His hand was still a moment away from the pendant's eventual resting spot when some invisible force reached out and gently but firmly wrested the crescent from his grasp and it snapped into its cradle.
The other three crescents behaved similarly, each snapping into position like a homesick pup yearning for the comfort of the den.