Tree Singer

them as Light Seekers. Resplendent in their green coats, the trees shot up between thick, straight pines, arching over the trail as they sought the sun.
Enormous ferns as big as Anatolian and larger, carpeted the hillsides in darker greens, surrounded by clover sporting yet another greenish hue. It was as if the forest had been painted by a magic fairy with a pallet of greens.
Wind whipped the trees overhead as the mist thickened into rain, but Mayten was so caught up in the beauty of their surroundings she didn’t care.
She paused beside a Light Seeker. Up close, the tree looked to be wearing a coat made of tiny ferns instead of moss. She ran a finger over the tree’s velvety coat, listening for the tree’s voice—
Bam!
Pain exploded through Mayten’s head. Though she didn’t remember falling, she found herself flat on her back, staring up into Cather’s face, feeling her friend’s hot hands on her neck. Her skull felt as though someone had split it in two.
“What . . . ?” She tried to sit up, but someone had her shoulders pinned to the ground.
“Wait, Mayten, hold still.” Tray’s quiet voice near her ear calmed her galloping heart. Somewhere close by Anatolian whined.
Cather’s eyes were closed, her forehead furrowed in concentration. Rain streamed off strands of her wet hair; her woolen cap was not much help as the rain increased. Tray bent over Mayten’s shoulder, his wide-brimmed hat shielding her from the rain, but Cather wasn’t so lucky.
The pain increased until Mayten swore her head would explode like a rotten pumpkin dropped from a roof. She tried again to sit up, but Tray’s grip was firm.
A feeling of peace and wellness flooded over her, sweeping the pain away and leaving her exhausted but whole. Cather opened her eyes, concern clearly showing in their brown depths.
Anatolian licked Mayten’s face as Tray released her shoulders. Together, Tray and Cather helped Mayten sit. It took a few breaths before the world stopped spinning.
“What happened?” Mayten finally asked. Anatolian forced himself as far into her lap as he could fit and plopped down, gazing up at her with deep brown eyes.
She ruffled his fur and gently pushed his head—and his stinky breath—away from her face.
Tray leaned down and held up a pinecone at least two feet long and as thick as a log.
“You got knocked on the head by one of those . . .” Cather pointed. “It could have broken your neck. Thankfully, you ended up with nothing more than a hard bump on the head and I could heal it.”
“Are we ready to move on?” Adven called.
Hunter and Adven waited further up the trail, Hunter looking worried, Adven looking . . . like Adven, grumpy and impatient.
Cather raised an eyebrow in question.
“I’m fine,” Mayten said. Couldn’t he at least give her a moment to gather her sense? “Let’s go.”
Tray and Cather pulled her to her feet as she tried to brush muddy paw prints off her pants. Tray handed Mayten her pack and she shrugged it back on, taking a moment to remove her cap and rub her head. Her hair was wet, but her skull felt smooth. She could find no sign of a bump. An odd sensation swept over her, leaving her dizzy and slightly disoriented.
Was this what it was like to be healed? Having a memory of the injury but no injury itself?
Mayten had probably been healed as a child—most children suffer an illness or injury that would require a healer—but she couldn’t remember being healed. Healers weren’t bothered with everyday colds or scratches and she’d always been pretty healthy.
Adven stomped off, Hunter close on his heels, though the woodsman glanced over his shoulder several times as if reassuring himself she was following.
Cather stayed beside Mayten, matching her pace, casting glances at her now and again.
Mayten fastened the top of her cape close around her throat as the wind hurled another rain-laden gust against them. Questions chased each other through her mind, like squirrels in spring.
“When you healed me,” she finally asked Cather. “Your hands felt hot, almost burning, on my neck. Then this feeling of peace came over me. Is that what usually happens?”
Cather shrugged. “That’s what I hear.”
“What does it feel like to you? Do your hands burn? Did you feel my pain?”
Why had she never thought to ask this before? As close as their friendship was, they had never shared much about their training. There were other things they wanted to do and there was always so little time.
Cather looked thoughtful, and Mayten gave her time to think. Icy rain snaked along Mayten’s scalp and trickled down her back, sending shivers down her arms. The wool was starting to smell funny but continued to keep her top half fairly dry. Her legs, however, were soaked to the skin and her feet were sloshing in her boots.
“It’s like I close my eyes and open my heart to the energy all around us,” Cather said with a nod. “Then I sort of scan the body of the person I’m helping, looking—or feeling—for places where the flow of energy has been interrupted or is too loud or too soft. Does that make sense?”
“It’s like how we can sense the energy flowing through a tree and sort of help shape its growth.” Mayten wiped at the rain trickling down her face.
“Exactly,” Cather said, “and if there is an injury, I can give my energy to that place, help it heal more quickly. From what I understand, this is how most healers work.”
Mayten frowned. “But when I help a tree, it gives back to me. It’s like we’re working in partnership. Is that how it works when someone is hurt? Do they give energy back to you?”
“No, they can’t.” Cather’s foot caught a root, and she pitched forward. Mayten grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. The wind drove the rain directly in their faces, making it increasingly difficult to see.
Cather smiled her thanks before continuing. “It actually drains the energy from me. I have to rest, drink water, and