The subconscious was a remarkable thing. Maccabeus often got lost in his dance, paying tribute to the beloved Divinities. Often, he would descend from his trance-like meditation to find that he had roamed far and wide indeed. Nearly always, when he surveyed his surroundings, he would find some item or element of presence that he had been seeking for some time. Or that he had no idea that he was searching for, but having found it, he then knew that he had been looking for it.
He often also found that he then had no idea where he was. In those times, it had been good in his earlier years to have Wolf at his side to help him home. Nowadays, he could follow his own overly-obvious trail.
Such meditations always broadened the event horizon of his spirit, and often that of his physical being as well.
Once, in his younger years studying under Shankaria, in the year of the great drought, he had entered a deep meditative state and danced for hours, coming back to his body only to find himself hip-deep in a crystal-blue pool of Istisha's water that ran in a rivulet down into the northern reaches of the Dale from the craggy mountains of the Giants of the Fist. That water had been sent by beloved Istisha, and had been the salvation of many clans of Dale Gnomes and their lupine allies. Istisha had clearly lured him there under his trance to aid his people.
During his dancing, the Divinities taught him much that he was unable to hear while he was yet within himself. Today, that teaching was that Vallenwood's voice would follow him far beyond the edge of the Ring of Mists. Maccabeus had danced in the shadow of that great tree?s voice all the way from its home in the Ring of Mists unto the very edge of Threshold.
Maccabeus found himself next to a great stone fortress, looking easterly down upon the town of Threshold. His stomach rumbled noisily. Wolf scoffed at him meaningfully. "I know." He said to his friend. "I've been out too long." His head was still spinning a little, and a cool breeze dried his brow comfortingly.
"Perhaps a visit to lovely Kym's establishment, eh?" He peered out across the valley of the town and saw, at nearly three bow-shots distance south and east, nestled in the hill above the Hiddenmount, the Hunter's Lodge, where the enchanting youngling toiled and lived with her noble father. His mouth whet itself at the mention of food, and his mind perked up at the thought of his supposed company. "Perhaps tonight we might join Kymberly on that hunt?" He suggested. Wolf turned himself and looked over his furry shoulder at Maccabeus, batting his lids over his deep brown eyes. "Never you mind that." Maccabeus flatly admonished his observant friend.
Both Maccabeus and Wolf stood tall suddenly. Vallenwood was speaking once again over the distance from the Ring. They both felt his voice in their hearts and in the land, reverberating up from the soil and speaking directly into their souls in that timeless lilting language that was shared among Maccabeus's kindred.
"Maccabeus, brother to the Wolf, the son of Zebulon, Ashe has asked for your help."
"We'll have to wait to eat." Maccabeus said. Wolf leapt to his feet and the little gnome jumped upon his broad back. As one they were off in a heartbeat, running along the west side of Threshold to Ashe's home, where the smell of blood hung in the air. Wolf sneezed as Maccabeus opened the door and entered that den.
