After the calf was gone, the brood root rang again.
Jiang felt the note through his feet. It moved beneath the red bark, found the flooded channel under him, and came back through the bones of his bad leg.
His stolen scent no longer needed the crown nearby.
Above him, amber light climbed the middle fork.
Hest followed it on hands and knees. He hooked the red yoke around the fork's narrow throat, where two side branches bent away from the bright wood. Valea lay across his ankles and reached beneath the branch with a wrapped barb.
A barb point found an old split in the bark.
"Not there," Hest said. "It will peel."
"Then offer your hand. That appears sturdier."
"My hand cannot be replaced."
Valea looked toward the white armor limping closer through the upper roots. "You chose a poor week to become precious."
