Chương 99: Chapter 6: The Grove Remembers- Part II

The excitement surrounding Garrick's awakening gradually settles as the day wears on. Lorcan eventually returns to the herb beds he had abandoned earlier, though not before glancing back over his shoulder often enough that I suspect his curiosity has only been delayed rather than satisfied. Aibell drifts between helping Ciara in the gardens and finding increasingly creative excuses to wander close enough to Garrick that she can observe him without appearing to do so.

Even Garrick himself seems content to simply exist within the Grove, saying little as he slowly absorbs a world that had only revealed itself to him this morning. I leave him to it. There are questions I cannot answer by watching him. The Grove has changed today. I am certain of it. Whether that change lies within Garrick or within the Grove itself I have yet to determine. My feet carry me almost instinctively toward the Heartwood.

Its silver-white trunk rises quietly above the younger trees surrounding it, unchanged to any ordinary eye. Yet I have long since learned that appearances mean very little where the Grove is concerned. Every branch, every root, every new leaf carries meaning if one knows how to listen. I rest my hand against the bark. The familiar warmth greets me immediately. Beneath it, the bond unfolds through my thoughts as naturally as breathing.

I feel the roots stretching beneath the earth, weaving around the foundations of Fallowspire. I feel water moving through them. Countless insects burrow through the soil without disturbing the delicate balance beneath the Grove. Birds settle among the branches above, their tiny lives passing unnoticed by everyone except the ancient intelligence that shelters them. Everything feels normal. For a moment I wonder whether I imagined the subtle change I sensed after leaving the Silverwood.

Then another presence brushes quietly against my awareness. Simply present. My eyes open. Garrick stands nearly thirty paces away near the outer edge of the clearing. He isn't looking toward me. In fact, he appears entirely occupied watching a pair of children chase one another between the young fruit trees Ciara planted several weeks ago. Yet despite the distance separating us, I know exactly where he is. The sensation catches me so completely off guard that I instinctively remove my hand from the Heartwood.

The awareness vanishes. I stare at my own palm for several heartbeats before placing it against the bark once more. The bond returns, so does Garrick. Not his thoughts or his emotions. Only his presence. It reminds me of sensing one particularly large root among countless others beneath the earth. I cannot see it. I cannot follow every twist and turn through the soil. Yet I know it exists because the Grove knows it exists. A quiet unease settles over me. Not fear. Responsibility.

When the Grove first accepted me, I believed the bond between us to be something shared solely by Warden and Grove. I had been wrong. The realization arrives with uncomfortable clarity. The Grove has not divided itself between us. It has grown. The distinction seems small at first. It isn't. Living things do not diminish themselves by creating new branches. They simply become larger than they were before. I let the thought settle slowly.

If another Grove Knight one day stands beside Garrick, will the bond grow again? If another druid joins our Circle, will the Grove continue expanding in ways no elder of the old Circles ever witnessed? Or had they known all this already? Perhaps nothing happening around me is truly new. Maybe Vael knew it all along and was simply unable to pass that information. Perhaps I am simply rediscovering truths that died alongside the old Groves. The thought should have frustrated me.

Instead, I find it strangely comforting. The Grove has never expected me to know everything. Only to keep learning. A shadow falls across the grass beside me.

"I thought I'd find you here." I glance over my shoulder as Garrick approaches at his usual unhurried pace.

"You usually do."

"I've begun noticing patterns."

"So have I." He comes to stand beside me, following my gaze toward the Heartwood. For a while, neither of us speaks. The silence between us has never demanded words. Eventually he breaks it.

"You're worried."

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"I thought today went well."

"It did." He studies me for a moment before asking quietly, "Then what's troubling you?" I rest my hand once more against the Heartwood.

"This morning..." I hesitate, searching for words precise enough to describe something I barely understand myself.

"... when I touched the Heartwood, I felt the Grove." He nods.

"I always have."

"I know." I look toward him.

"Today, I felt you too." The breeze stirs gently through the branches overhead. Garrick says nothing. Neither of us has an answer for it. We have stood beneath the grove countless times, but now we belong to it, both of us now. The days following Garrick's awakening settle into a rhythm that feels almost deceptively ordinary. Perhaps that is the greatest strength of the Grove. It refuses to let miracles interrupt life for very long. It demands attention in ways I never anticipate.

New saplings require constant care while older ones quietly spread their roots deeper beneath the earth with each passing day. The vegetable beds Ciara and the others plant need watering, weeding and no shortage of friendly arguments over which patch of soil should be cultivated next. Every morning begins with someone carrying compost, pruning damaged branches or clearing weeds that somehow seem to grow faster than anyone expects.

Children weave between the young trees, inventing games that somehow avoid every fragile sapling despite the adults' repeated warnings. When night falls, those who have chosen to sleep beneath the Grove despite having their own homes, like Garrick and Merrow, settle into the living beds, accepting what would have seemed impossible only weeks ago as though it has always been part of their lives, along with all of us from Blackthorn.

Day by day the Grove stretches a little farther, shelters a few more inches beneath its canopy and quietly reminds me that forests have never been built in a single season. For years I had believed rebuilding a druidic Circle would begin with rituals, forgotten knowledge or ancient magic. Instead, it begins with habits. Life had returned, quietly and patiently. Exactly as the Grove always seemed to prefer. The Silverwood remained at the heart of it all.

People rarely approach the Silverwood unless they have reason to. Those who have lived in Fallowspire since its earliest days learn to respect the ancient tree without quite understanding why. New arrivals simply follow their example, accepting its presence with the same quiet reverence they might give an old shrine whose history has long since been forgotten. No one questions it. Somehow, that feels right. Garrick changes less than I expect. Outwardly, at least.

He still rises before sunrise to help the town watch change shifts along the palisade. He still spends part of every afternoon drilling volunteers who insist they already know how to hold a spear. He still prefers repairing damaged fencing himself rather than asking someone else to do it. If anything, he seems more grounded than before.

Only occasionally do I catch him pausing in the middle of a conversation, his attention drifting toward the distant tree line for no more than a heartbeat before returning to whatever task lies before him. He never mentions it. He doesn't need to. I begin recognizing the look. The Grove has learned another voice and Garrick has begun listening. I find him near sunset standing atop the western watchtower overlooking the forest beyond Fallowspire.

The wind carries the scent of pine and damp earth across the walls, stirring the cloak hanging from his shoulders as he rests both hands upon the weathered timber railing.

"You've been coming up here often." He glances sideways as I join him.

"It helps me think."

"So, I've noticed." For a while we simply watch the forest together. The last rays of sunlight filter through the endless canopy, painting long shadows across the valleys beyond the walls. Somewhere in the distance a flock of birds suddenly takes flight before disappearing behind the hills. Garrick follows them with his eyes.

"They're restless." I look toward the same patch of forest.

"I don't see anything."

"You wouldn't." His answer comes without arrogance, carrying only quiet certainty.

"I don't know what's disturbed them." He frowns slightly.

"I only know... something has." The words linger between us. A few days ago, I would have dismissed them as instinct. Now, I'm not so certain.

"Does it happen often?" He considers the question.

"Not often. But often enough that I've started paying attention." His fingers tighten slightly around the railing.

"The Grove feels different." I wait.

"It isn't afraid."

"Then what?" He keeps his eyes fixed upon the forest.

"Watchful." A chill creeps quietly through me despite the warmth of the evening air. I reach for the bond almost without thinking. The familiar presence answers immediately. Yet beneath that endless calm, something else lingers. Not alarm but expectation. The sensation fades almost as soon as I notice it, leaving me uncertain whether it is truly there at all. Perhaps I am imagining shadows where none exist or perhaps the Grove senses something long before either of us. A horn sounds from the eastern gate.

Once, then again. A horn for summons. Garrick turns toward the sound at the same moment I do. Before either of us can speak, one of Havlar's guards' hurries across the courtyard below, spots us atop the tower and immediately changes direction. He climbs the wooden stairs two at a time before stopping just long enough to catch his breath.

"My Lord Grovekeeper." He inclines his head respectfully before looking toward Garrick.

"Captain."

"What is it?" I ask.

"The Lord requests both of you." The guard hesitates.

"He said it is... urgent." I exchange a glance with Garrick. Without another word, we turn toward the stairs together.