Tree Singer

walking leaves me so tired I can’t think,” Cather agreed.
For as long as she could remember, Mayten had been taught that all living things had energy running through them. A singer’s job was to align the energy within their own bodies with the living thing they were supposed to be helping: trees, flowers, or, in Taiwania’s case, the clan’s communal history and spirit. That was why singers like her sister made good clan leaders—they could feel the clan.
Mayten had never tried to connect with a tree’s energy from a distance. Might be good practice. Who knows if I’ll get a chance to do it right?
So she tried. As she walked, she took her love for all living things, shut out all distractions (a Level Two training), and focused her eyes on the path about three feet ahead of her. Didn’t want to trip on any roots.
Then she blocked out everything else—the banter of the men, the birdsong, the squish of pine needles under her boots, the sound of Anatolian rummaging in the bush . . .
Focusing on one tree as she walked wasn’t feasible so she decided to just talk, but in her mind, not out loud. Verbal communication was a Level Three skill, one she excelled at. But she’d never tried to communicate mentally.
:Hello friends,: she sent. :I’m trying to learn about the blight in the land. I want to help, but I don’t know what to do. Can you help? Can you tell me anything?:
Then she fell quiet, struggling to keep quiet, to move into Level Four, listening.
For a long time, she heard nothing at all. Just as she was about to give up, Mayten swore she heard what she could only describe as—giggles.
The joy of the wind in the branches, she realized. The realization expanded, opening her to the tickle of squirrels dancing along the limbs and the urgency of baby birds chirping in their nests. The communal happiness of spring . . .
Emotions surged through her, cleansing the rest of her foul mood from the night before and the boar prank, washing away everything but the hope of the trees.
I made a connection! Elation filled Mayten’s soul. Just wait until I tell Mother . . .
Anger settled back over her like a damp cloak and she lost her focus, lost the connection.
She tried to push the anger away, regain her focus. If she tried hard enough, there was a chance she could also receive visual messages, a Level Five skill—
“Hello, Mayten.” Hunter’s voice made her jump. How long had he been walking beside her?
“Hi,” she said tentatively. Whatever did the woodsman want? She glanced up to see Cather had moved up alongside Tray as the path had broadened. Adven maintained his position as head of the team . . . with Anatolian at his heels.
“Sorry if our little prank scared you.” Hunter sounded sincere.
“Cather’s the one you should apologize to.” Mayten jerked her chin at her friend. “I think you took a few years off her life.”
“Already did,” he said. They walked quietly together for a bit.
“Do you know that I was in the same leveling class as Acerola and Zigba?”
The question surprised Mayten. She didn’t remember seeing Hunter around while the twins were in training. “You were?”
Two days away from home and she was already homesick, Mayten realized. How sweet of him to bring up her sisters.
“Yep, and I’ve got a story to tell you!” His eyes sparkled as he waggled his eyebrows.
She liked Hunter, Mayten decided. Not only had he been kind to Anatolian, he’d also been thoughtful enough to apologize. He was almost the opposite of Adven. Their team leader would never think to apologize to anyone or check on how they were doing.
Anatolian waited beside a tree as they passed. He moved up next to Hunter and pressed against his side. The woodsman stroked the dog’s broad head as they walked.
“Those sisters of yours used to pretend each was the opposite twin all the time, like it was their private little joke.”
Mayten laughed. “They did that at home, but I didn’t know they did it anywhere else.”
His eyes twinkled. “I could always tell them apart. Because Zigba has the smallest scar right by her lip.”
Mayten nodded. She used that little scar to tell them apart, too. Zigba had fallen from a tree and cut her lip on a rock. But Zigba’s scar was tiny and Mayten was surprised Hunter had noticed it.
“It was the solstice celebration,” he continued, “and I knew those girls were up to something. I’d been watching them, you see. There was this boy in the clan who was intent on courting Zigba. I knew he planned to get her attention at the dance. Well, the girls snuck off and I followed them. They traded hair scarves where no one could see. ’Twas the only way to tell them apart that day.”
“Oh my.” Mayten giggled, picturing her sisters doing just that.
“Just to make life interesting, I told the boy who was interested in Zigba what they had done. He went up and asked Acerola, pretending to be Zigba, to dance. At the end of the dance, he made sure to stop before the real Zigba and kissed Acerola—right in front of her sister!”
Hunter chuckled and Mayten found herself joining him. She’d have to remember to tease her sisters about that one when she got back.
“What did Acerola do?”
“She sputtered, turned a most satisfying shade of red, and stomped off the dance floor, Zigba running after her.” His wistful smile made Mayten wonder if there was more to the story than he was telling. She studied his freckles for a long moment.
“Hunter, can I ask you something kind of personal?”
“You can ask me anything, anytime, lassie,” Hunter tipped his hat, encouraging her to go on.
“It’s just, your skin is so . . .”
“White?”
“Yes,” she said with a rush of relief. “And red. And those freckles . . .”
“Simple,” he said with a grin. “My da was from the green Isle of Ister. He came over on a trading ship and fell in love with a girl from