The protector stared at her for a moment, a hard glint in her eyes. "If every step is calculated, no one need die. But if you enter with your heads in a rage… then the Tree will recognize you as predators, and the forest will respond with what it has learned to devour."
Vany hissed, already impatient with rules. "Say that now, after we've nearly fried enough. Who's to say this 'guardian' here isn't just saying it to spare your memories?"
Raphaeline, who walked with her scythe resting on her shoulder, gave a short laugh. "No one here will waste time doubting. Either we trust the instrument that knows how to hold doors, or we trust only our own claws. I, for example, prefer my scythe."
The protector gave Raphaeline a look that held both recognition and warning. "You are a warrior. I have nothing to teach you about strikes. But learn to listen to the place. It has a tongue. It speaks of pressure and climbs." And he remembers with resentment.
