What can I do with this story?

The boy hurried over the hill and half slid half dropped down the steep embankment. Tumbling head over foot he rolled up and stopped in a heap against something hard. By the taste of it in his teeth, a balsam tree. Why couldn't he calm down? He had been running for what seemed like hours but was probably closer to two or three minutes, ever since he heard the call. The last time he heard a bird call high and shrill like that, he had been curious as to the reason. When the reason turned out to be a large brown bear, he had barely managed to get away. This time he was taking no chances. Spitting pitch and bark out of his teeth he stumbled to his feet intending to careen the rest of the way down the hill. Instead he was again brought to a stop, this time against something softer.

"You have come. I knew you would."

He straightened out and peared at the form above of him. The voice said female, but the face was obscured by a large hood. Strange, he couldn't remember thinking the word 'obscured' before. maybe his brief summer of education was paying off.

"What brought you to this place, child?" the hooded woman - it had to be a woman to call him child - directed the full force of her gaze on him.

"I heard the call?"

"Many hear, but few answer, at least not with your... speed." The boy felt as if she were sizing him up. "Turn around and let me get a better look at you," she commanded. He complied, all thoughts of bears suddenly gone from his mind. Something was wrong with this girl. "So, what are you, five ten, five eleven?"

"yeah, I think so."

"And your name?"

"Sean."

She looked sideways at him for several seconds before shrugging her shoulders. "Well, I guess being celtic and somewhat mysterious makes up for how ordinary it actually sounds. the name'll do - you spell that s - e - a - n of course?"

"Ah yes?"

"You're white, northern European, and though you may give the initial impression of a spineless wanker, deep within lie hidden reserves of untapped strength and potential?"

The boy, now known as Sean, nodded wordlessly. whatever she wanted.

"No doubt you are an only child, your mother died in a mysterious accident while you were yet too young to know her?"

"Yeah, served her right." He thought back to a treasured memory.

"You musn't blame yourself, it creates a need in your character, the filling of which will supply drama and drive the plot for the next three thousand pages."

"Pages?" Sean questioned.

"A figure of speech," the hooded stranger quickly replied. "It means an extended period of time, somewhere from one to five years. Tell me, besides The Call, have you noticed anything strange lately?"

Besides mysterious strangers using big words in a cryptic fashion? Sean thought hard to himself. "I cut myself yesterday while I was splitting up a couple chords of firewood, want to see the wound?"

"Is it in an auspicious location or shaped ominously?"

"It's on my shin, and reminds me a lot of what an axe might do."

"That's okay," the stranger seemed to shrink deeper into the cloak, "I don't like blood."

"Alright," Sean reluctantly lowered his pant-leg again.

"I want you to go home, find two or three of your less reputable friends, some sort of an older male father figure and some girl with an attractive name and a decent chest. Tell them the fate of the world rests on their bravery slash troubled past slash chest, and to meet you on the edge of town tonight. Now run!"

Even as Sean ran he felt changes coming over him, the most noticeable being the desire to introspect in full paragraphs. What was he going to do? Should he tell this woman the secret of his birth? Should he have told her about the bear? He ran on.