Fern pressed her palm to the cold, lichen-covered stone as she stepped over the old boundary marker, heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Behind her, the fields blighted with blackened leaves seemed far away already. She knelt and checked her herb satchel, double-checking the sturdy twine and the vials clinking inside. Above, branches tangled in a ceiling of green, filtering sunlight into shifting patterns at her feet. A whisper, almost a sigh, drifted through the air as she stood; the forest had noticed her. She took one careful step forward, eyes scanning for hidden roots and faint trails, when a chorus of tiny, bell-like giggles erupted from a patch of ferns to her left. Fern tightened her grip on her walking stick, feeling the weight of every warning her grandmother ever gave her. The path before her twisted, half-swallowed by moss and shadow.
Director
I step forward, head held high as I continue down the path, pausing only to place an offering, a snowbelle flower, before continuing on.
Fern knelt with care, setting the snowbelle gently on a mossy stone. As she rose, the giggling faded into a steady, wooden tapping. From the ferns stepped a small creature, its skin like bark, eyes gleaming polished amber. It tilted its head, studying the snowbelle, its gaze a mix of curiosity and ancient scrutiny.
I lean forward, my wooden fingers gently tracing the stone’s edge. I inhale the scent of the snowbelle, then turn toward Fern.
"A delicate choice for these roots. You seek favor or perhaps you merely offer peace to the silence?"
I tilt my head, awaiting her reply.
Protagonist
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