Elboron was the finder, although he fell upon the treasure by accident, crashing through rotting planks of wood, landing solidly upon the damp dark earth below.
“Bron…?” I called down anxiously, fearing broken bones.
But my brother had struck gold: curved swords in pocked scabbards; broken trinkets; a tarnished serpent crest. Best of all, the bones themselves, still clothed in raggedy red. Spoils of war. Who, we wondered. How?
We took Léof there when he was bigger. He fingered our finds thoughtfully, and listened with respect to our grave stories. But we never told Father. It would only worry him.