Chương 92: Chapter 2: Language of the Trees

The evening grows quieter as we leave the garden gate behind. The sounds of the city fade surprisingly quickly beneath the spreading canopy. Stone pathways wind gently between flowerbeds and young Heartwoods whose leaves shimmer softly beneath the last golden light of the setting sun. Somewhere behind us, the gate closes with a muted thud before silence settles once more over the Grove.

Living silence, the rustling of leaves, the distant trickle of water flowing through the channels beneath the roots, birdsong slowly giving way to the evening chorus. Elyrion walks beside me without speaking. Every so often his gaze lingers upon another Heartwood or one of the smaller saplings spreading steadily across the garden. He does not stop to examine them, nor does he stare with open fascination. Instead, he carries himself like someone revisiting a place he never expected to see again.

Eventually he exhales quietly.

"I had hoped but hope and certainty are rarely the same thing." I glance towards him.

"You weren't certain the Grove truly existed?"

"I was certain I had felt something." He smiles faintly.

"I simply wasn't prepared to believe it. The birth of a Heartwood isn't exactly common."

"No. It isn't." The answer carries a weight I cannot quite place. For a few more moments we continue walking beneath the canopy until the Silverwood comes fully into view, rising high above the Grove like a pale beacon against the darkening sky. Even after seeing it every day, I still find myself looking up whenever I pass beneath its branches. Beside me, Elyrion stops completely. His eyes remain fixed upon the Heartwood.

"... By the First Roots." The words leave him so quietly I almost miss them. For several long moments he simply stands there. The expression upon his face is unlike anything I expected, reverence. The sort of quiet awe I imagine someone might wear upon entering an ancient temple for the first time.

"You've seen one before," I say. His eyes remain upon the tree.

"I have, but this one is different."

"What makes it different?" He finally tears his gaze away from the Silverwood.

"It is alive." I blink.

"They're usually dead?" A soft laugh escapes him.

"No. I meant…" He searches briefly for the right words.

"I've walked through forgotten Groves. Places where only fragments remained. A single Heartwood clinging to life. Ancient roots buried beneath ruins. Groves remembered only because someone still cared enough to remember them." His gaze drifts upward once more and smiles.

"This is young." I cannot help returning the smile.

"It certainly keeps me busy."

"I imagine it does." The squirrel gives an impatient chirp from Elyrion's shoulder. He reaches up automatically, scratching gently beneath its chin.

"I know." The tiny creature chirps again, this time sounding almost argumentative.

"I haven't forgotten." I watch the exchange with quiet amusement.

"It has a great deal to say."

"It usually does."

"And you understand it?"

"Perfectly." The answer is delivered with such confidence that I find myself studying the squirrel a little more closely. It meets my gaze without the slightest hint of nervousness before flicking its tail indignantly and climbing onto the top of Elyrion's pack.

"I believe," Elyrion says, "my companion thinks we've spent enough time admiring the scenery."

"I wasn't aware squirrels became impatient."

"This one certainly does." A faint laugh escapes me.

"I'll have to remember that." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. We continue walking until we reach the open clearing beneath the Silverwood. The familiar benches sit undisturbed beneath the branches while the evening meal remains exactly where I left it only minutes earlier. Voices drift towards us from the opposite side of the clearing. Aibell notices us first. She rises from the table before her attention settles upon Elyrion. For the briefest moment she simply stares.

Then her eyes widen.

"... You're an elf." Elyrion bows politely.

"I am."

"I've never met an elf before."

"So I keep hearing." Aibell looks immediately towards me.

"You already knew?"

"I've known for nearly five minutes."

"That's hardly enough time."

"It was enough to notice." She opens her mouth, clearly intending to ask another dozen questions before Ciara gently places a hand upon her sleeve.

"Perhaps," Ciara says with an apologetic smile towards the visitor, "we should let our guest explain why he's travelled all this way first." Elyrion inclines his head gratefully.

"I would appreciate that." His eyes move across everyone gathered beneath the Silverwood before returning to me.

"There is, however..." He hesitates.

"... one matter. It concerns why I came." The squirrel climbs quietly down from his shoulder onto the bench beside him.

"I would ask..." He looks around the gathering once more before speaking carefully.

"... that the next part of this conversation remains without audience." The clearing falls silent. Aibell frowns in confusion. Ciara exchanges a puzzled glance with Garrick. I study Elyrion for a long moment before looking towards the squirrel sitting calmly upon the bench. Something about the request and something about the strange certainty with which he speaks, makes me realize there is far more to this meeting than I first believed. For a long moment, no one speaks.

Elyrion waits with the same easy patience he has shown since we first met, neither pressing the matter nor attempting to explain it further. I glance around the table. Aibell is openly curious. Ciara watches our guest with the careful attention she reserves for strangers she hasn't yet decided whether to trust. Garrick's expression is unreadable, though I know him well enough to recognize that he's quietly judging every movement the elf makes. None of them appear alarmed. Neither am I.

"If that's all," Garrick says, "go hear him out."

"You don't mind?" He snorts.

"If he meant you harm, he's chosen an exceptionally inconvenient way of doing it." Elyrion smiles.

"I appreciate the confidence."

"It wasn't confidence." Garrick folds his arms.

"It was practicality. If you try anything, the grove would probably strangle you with its vines or roots before you can come close." That earns a quiet laugh from Aibell.

"You keep brining one mess or the other back home," she says to me.

"I know."

"And supper is getting colder."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's still true." She sighs with theatrical disappointment before waving me away.

"Go."

"But," she adds, pointing a spoon in my direction, "if you're gone another hour, I'm serving your portion to the cub." The Hollowmane cub immediately lifts its head as though it has understood every word. Its tail begins wagging enthusiastically. Traitor.

"I'll be back."

"You'd better." Leaving the others beneath the Silverwood, I gesture for Elyrion to follow.

"This way." He inclines his head. Together we leave the warmth of the evening gathering behind, walking deeper into the Grove to older roots surrounding the Silverwood itself. The last rays of sunlight spill through the branches overhead, bathing the clearing beneath the great tree in soft amber light. Here the sounds of the city disappear entirely, replaced by little more than rustling leaves and the gentle creak of living wood shifting in the evening breeze.

I stop beside one of the broad roots circling the Silverwood.

"No one will disturb us here." Elyrion looks around slowly. For the first time, his composure slips, only slightly. His hand reaches out almost unconsciously, fingertips brushing against the smooth silver bark. He closes his eyes. I feel it immediately through my bond. The Grove stirs in quite acceptance. A quiet ripple passes through the Heartwood beneath my feet, spreading outward through the roots before fading almost as quickly as it came. Elyrion opens his eyes again.

"It remembers." I frown.

"Remembers what?" Instead of answering, he looks down toward his shoulder.

"I believe," he says softly, "we've delayed this long enough." The squirrel chitters once. It climbs down his arm with practiced ease before landing lightly upon one of the Silverwood's great roots. For a moment, it simply sits there. Its small nose twitches. Its bright eyes sweep across the clearing before settling on me. Then it stands. I wait for it to scamper away. Instead, the mana around it shifts, not with the explosive flare of a spell, rather the air around it simply bends.

The squirrel's body stretches smoothly, as naturally as a sapling growing toward sunlight. Grey fur recedes beneath skin while tiny paws lengthen into hands and feet. Its tail dissolves into drifting strands of emerald mana before vanishing altogether. Within a single breath, the squirrel is gone. In its place kneels a young man. He cannot be much older than twenty.

Chestnut-brown hair falls untidily across his forehead, and simple travelling clothes hang loosely from a lean frame accustomed to long roads rather than comfortable homes. Across his back rests a weathered wooden staff wrapped in living vines that continue to grow despite having long since been cut. For several heartbeats, I simply stare. The young man rises slowly to his feet. His green eyes meet mine. Then, with quiet respect, he bows.

"Grovekeeper." His voice is calm.

"My name is Lorcan." The mana surrounding him brushes gently against my senses. Wild, ancient, deeply familiar. It carries the same unmistakable heartbeat of the wild. The same quiet harmony I have not felt since Master Vael and Elarion. My breath catches. Impossible.

"... You're a druid." A small, tired smile touches Rowan's face.

"Yes." He holds my gaze.

"Many years ago, I thought I was the last. Then I felt a Heartwood awaken. I came here searching for the grove. I never imagined I'd find another druid waiting for me." The world seems to fall away. For the first time since Elarion fell, I stand before someone else who speaks the language of the trees.