Night fell upon the ancient forest, bringing with it a damp chill and a heavy silence more terrifying than the roar of any beast. The small fire we had kindled within the hollow of a colossal tree was only strong enough to push back the darkness in a cramped space, revealing three exhausted and broken figures. The physical warmth of the flames could do nothing to soothe the cold of loss that was seeping into each of our souls.
Kael sat motionless, his back against the gnarled, rough-hewn wall of a massive root. The firelight danced across his angular face, casting stark shadows that deepened his weathered features. One of his shoulders was tightly bound with a makeshift bandage I had fashioned from leaves and a torn piece of cloth. I had no idea if the leaves possessed any healing properties; it was an unconscious act in a moment of panic, a desperate attempt to do something, anything, useful. His eyes were fixed on the fire, but I knew he didn't truly see it. His gaze was empty, distant, as if his mind was trapped in the horrific moment when Finn was taken by the pack of Grass Wolves. From time to time, his hand would tighten on the shaft of his spear, his knuckles turning white—a silent testament to his rage and helplessness.
In the darkest corner of the hollow, Elara was curled into a ball, hugging her knees. She was nearly swallowed by the shadows, her presence only given away by the occasional, choked sob that escaped her. Each sound was like a small knife cutting into the already taut atmosphere. She didn't cry loudly; it was just the uncontrollable trembling of a body trying to contain a grief too immense to bear. I had tried to offer her some water, but she had only shaken her head, her face buried between her knees. To her, Finn was more than just her younger brother. From the few interactions I had witnessed, I sensed their bond was far deeper. Perhaps they were an inseparable pair of siblings, or something even more. Now, a part of her had died with him.
As for me, I took on the role of the watchman. I stood at the entrance, a narrow gap between two giant roots, my hand gripping the dagger—my only weapon. My senses were strained, trying to parse every sound of the night forest. The incessant chirping of insects formed a monotonous but haunting symphony. The wind whistling through the high canopy sounded like the whispers of ghosts. Somewhere in the distance, a mournful howl rose, making the hair on my neck stand on end. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a dry twig made my heart leap, my sweaty palm tightening its grip on my weapon. The fear of the Grass Serpents, and of creatures whose names I did not yet know, was still raw. We had survived, but only by a thread. This forest offered no room for complacency.
The silence between the three of us was more dreadful than the howls of wild beasts. It was a silence filled with unspoken words, unanswerable questions, and a shared pain that could not be bridged by language. I did not understand their tongue, nor they mine. We were three lonely islands, adrift together on an ocean of tragedy.
To keep my mind from succumbing to despair, and to keep myself awake, I began to observe our shelter more closely. We were inside the root system of a tree of unimaginable size. The great roots were like fortress walls, twisting together to form a natural dome. The ground beneath my feet was damp and soft. The air carried the scent of decaying earth, of moss, and of ancient, vegetative life.
I reached out and touched the nearest root. Its surface was coarse, covered in a thin, cool layer of moss. I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to focus. I tried to push away the horrific images of Finn, of the serpents, and tried to listen for something other than my own fear.
At first, there was only darkness and silence in my mind. But then, as I allowed myself to relax, a strange sensation began to emerge. It was not a sound, nor an image. It was like a current, an extremely subtle vibration, that flowed from the bark, through my palm, and spread throughout my body. It felt strangely warm and pleasant.
I focused deeper on that feeling. Gradually, in the darkness of my mind, faint outlines began to form. They were not structured thoughts, but pure impressions, raw feelings. I "felt" the tree's existence. It was not an inanimate object, but a colossal, ancient, and majestic being. I could sense the slow, deliberate flow of sap through its thousands of woody vessels, like blood through veins. I felt the weight of centuries pressing down on its trunk, the storms it had weathered, the droughts it had endured.
Fragmented memories, not my own, began to float through my consciousness. They were like old, faded films without sound. I saw the sun rise and set thousands of times, a dizzyingly fast cycle. I saw the seasons change, leaves turning from lush green to withered yellow and then falling away, over and over again. I saw small creatures—striped squirrels, brightly-plumed birds—making their nests in its branches. They were born, they grew, and they died, generation after generation, while the tree stood immutable, a silent witness to time.
Then, a more distinct sensation cut through the meandering stream of memories. It was the feeling of "thirst." Not a thought, but a pure, physical need. The tree needed water. But simultaneous with that feeling, I also "saw" another image, an awareness of a nearby water source. It wasn't on the surface. It was below. Deep beneath the earth we were sitting on, there was an underground stream, pure and cool. The image of the water flowing through cracks in the rock, weaving between smaller roots, appeared in my mind as clearly as if I were seeing it with my own eyes.
I snapped my eyes open, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from astonishment at what I had just experienced. I looked back at Kael, who was still lost in his own world.
I hesitated. How could I explain this? How could a stranger, one who didn't speak their language, convince him that I had just "talked" to a tree? It sounded insane. But the thirst in my own throat was real. And if my feeling was right, it could be our salvation.
Taking a deep breath, I approached Kael. I knelt before him, trying to catch his gaze. It took a moment before he slowly raised his head, his soulless eyes looking at me.
I said nothing. Instead, I pointed to my mouth, made a drinking motion, and then pointed down at the ground directly beneath our feet. I repeated the action twice.
Kael frowned, a faint flicker of awareness in his eyes. He looked at me, then down at the earthen floor, his expression filled with doubt. He probably thought I had been shocked into madness. He gave a slight shake of his head, about to turn away.
I wouldn't give up. I pointed to his wound, then again to my mouth and the ground. I tried to convey the idea that we needed water, not just to drink, but to clean his wound, to sustain ourselves. Finally, I took his hand, placed his palm flat on the damp earth, and then placed my hand over his. I closed my eyes, trying to focus, hoping he might feel even a fraction of what I had felt.
Elara, from her dark corner, seemed to have been drawn in by our actions. She had stopped crying and had lifted her head to watch. Her gaze swept over me, over Kael, and then settled on our hands pressed to the ground. I saw a strange light in her eyes, a mixture of curiosity and surprise. She murmured something in her language, a short word, her tone no longer despairing, but questioning.
Kael felt nothing from the earth, I knew that. But perhaps my determined actions, or perhaps Elara's word, had an effect on him. He pulled his hand back, looked at me for a long moment, then slowly picked up his spear. He said nothing, but in his eyes, the doubt had begun to give way to a fragile sliver of hope, a willingness to try, because after all, we had nothing left to lose.
In the dark night of our loss, an ability I never knew I possessed had awakened. I didn't know what it was, or where it came from. But right now, it was all we had.