Tree Singer

watched him out of the corner of her eye as he walked next to their new leader. His skin was even lighter than Cather’s. Red freckles covered what she could see of his skin and his hair was the color of rust.
Tray walked behind the men. She knew from his skipping stride he was practically leaping with happiness.
She and Cather brought up the rear, Anatolian by their side.
Song followed them down the road, fading as the distance grew. “Know that you are not forgotten. We await your safe return.”
Mayten swallowed hard, trying not to let the panic rising in her throat embarrass her in front of the whole clan. Cather squeezed her hand and Anatolian walked so close he brushed against her leg.
“’Till the time we’re reunited, carried here upon our song. We trust you to the good Creator . . .” The voices took on an ethereal quality as the group approached the trees and stepped into the chill of the forest. She finished the song in her mind as the sound faded. “. . . who’ll keep you safe from every wrong.”
The path narrowed and they settled into single file with Adven in the lead, followed by Hunter, Tray, Cather, and Mayten, Anatolian at her side. The song echoed in her mind. Would the Creator keep them safe from every wrong?
A shiver ran down her spine. She hoped so, but at this very moment, it was difficult to trust in something she couldn’t see. She let her hand rest on Anatolian’s head, taking comfort in his warm presence.

Chapter Eight
That first day was rather boring. All they did was walk, walk, walk. The forest grew darker, trees pressing close about them. She wasn’t familiar with these trees, though she’d read about a few of the different types. The gnarly bark and twisted limbs drew her eye as did the delicate ferns and mosses of different varieties that seemed to grow on everything. The air was filled with rich, loamy smells.
Occasionally, she glimpsed white butterflies flitting through the shadows or slugs yellow as spring daffodils and larger than Da’s fingers creeping on a log or across the trail.
Mayten quizzed herself on the names of the plants she knew as well as the abundance of forest life. Anatolian was in dog heaven, ranging off trail to chase a squirrel and rejoining Mayten further along, tail thumping happily.
They nibbled on food as they walked, not stopping for a midday meal. They likely would not have stopped at all if Cather hadn’t whispered to Tray that she needed to relieve herself. It took some doing, but Tray finally convinced Adven to grant them a brief rest.
Mayten sat on a fallen tree, resting her tired feet. The boots were soft but she wasn’t used to wearing them. Birds, squirrels, and insects made a constant hum. The familiar scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation filled her with a deep reassurance, granting her a moment of calm.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the trees.
“Hello Uncle.” She reached out to a nearby pine.
Adven grunted and headed off, putting an end to her attempted communication.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I have to go.”
Cather and Mayten jogged to catch up with the others. She glared at the back of Adven’s head. Would it hurt to let them rest for a time?
But Adven didn’t appear to know what the word meant.
When it became apparent they wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon, Mayten decided to mentally review the last three years of her training. The king was depending on her, after all. Depending on all of them.
She’d started training when she was twelve years old. That year had been largely spent among the trees. Her body had grown tall and lanky, making her feel clumsy and awkward on the ground. She loved spending time with her trees, feeling at one among the branches and leaves as she had for as long as she remembered.
That first year she’d followed her mother on her duties, spending equal time in the fields with her da and later with Oleaster. She’d had to learn to sit still for the first time, either near a tree or in one. She had to “let go” of her childish fidgeting and learn the feel, the smell, and even the taste of each tree.
At night Mother would quiz her on the names, medicinal properties, and particularities of each tree as they sat by the fire in the winter or on the porch during warm summer evenings.
She’d grown even taller, passing Taiwania in height during her thirteenth year. Mother encouraged her to go out alone and spend time talking to the trees. Mayten poured out her joys and sorrows to her tree friends, reveling in this new experience. She shared her concerns about her changing body with its bumps and bleeding and the ups and downs of her friendships with Tray and Cather. She railed about the fights she’d gotten into with Taiwania.
The old Auntie tree near their homestead had rivaled Cather as her closest confidante that year, receiving a majority of her time.
Mayten sighed at the memory, then shifted the straps on her shoulders, adjusting the handmade pads, and tried not to think about her aching feet. Instead, she focused on the trees, reaching out and reveling in the feel of new growth.
There was a sweet smell in the air, a smell that had to come from the sugar pines she’d only heard about before. She studied the trees towering high overhead, squinting at the higher branches. Here and there were a few huge cones, long and graceful, cones the trees were famous for. She could barely make out the clusters of new cones hanging at the ends of the branches.
By the end of summer, those babies would be as large as the others, ready to be harvested by frantic squirrels preparing for winter’s coming.
The day wore on and Mayten’s leg muscles began to ache as much as her feet. Her shoulders burned from the weight of the backpack. She glanced at Cather walking slightly