Tree Singer

stand up.
Cather must be wrong, she decided. She stared at Hunter, willing him to get up. To move.
To prove Cather wrong.
He couldn’t be . . . Not kind, gentle Hunter, teller of stories with a smile that could light anyone’s day . . .
A howl broke the silence and, for a moment, Mayten thought the cat had somehow come alive. Then she saw Adven’s stiff back. Their leader stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at something she couldn’t see.
The sound had come from him.
Cather started toward him, but Tray moved forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her to a stop.
“How long has he got?” Tray asked. His eyes pleaded, as if hoping for a different answer, but his jaw was set in a firm line.
Cather shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. He comes in and out of consciousness. With the loss of blood . . . and his neck—” She swallowed, the sound loud in the almost obscene quiet. “He’d never walk again even if he could survive the blood loss. I saw this same kind of injury when we were visiting the Ocean Clan. One of the ship masons fell from a mast and landed on his head, snapping his neck. He lived two weeks and we did all we could, but he died.”
Tray closed his eyes and nodded. He looked like a mirror image of his uncle, his entire body clenched in grief.
This was it, Mayten realized. The scenario Tray had explained what seemed a lifetime ago had come to pass. One of them would have to stay with Hunter and “ease his passing.”
Did Cather know?
Mayten studied her friend’s face, searching for words to explain what she knew had to happen. Cather gave her a sad smile, then took her arm, guiding her over to Hunter.
“Help me get some water into him.”
Mayten watched in shocked silence as Cather gently removed her sweater, folded it, and pushed the bundle under the woodsman’s head. She pulled a cloth from her backpack and took it to the nearby stream to wet it. Returning to Hunter’s side, she gently moistened his lips with the cloth. His pale, waxy skin glistened with damp.
She couldn’t tell Cather that the beautiful woodsman—this sweet, happy man—would not be cared for the way Cather would have cared for him back home.
He would die in the woods at the hands of his friends.
Mayten tried to envision the rest of the trip without him. No more stories to pass the time. No more pranking or jokes.
Her eyes burned and her breath caught. She swallowed a sob and helped Cather without knowing what she did.
~ * ~
They sat with Hunter for hours. Cather cleaned the blood from Hunter’s face and body, enlisting Tray’s aid to change the woodsman’s torn shirt.
Mayten’s heart fluttered with hope the first time Hunter opened his eyes. He gave them a weak smile, then drifted off again.
Other than that, he never moved.
After a time, Cather raised his pant leg and poked his calf with a stick. He didn’t flinch.
She left Mayten kneeling beside Hunter and went to inspect Anatolian. The big dog raised his head as she poked and prodded him all over, but he didn’t mind. He seemed to know something was wrong. He glanced at Mayten, furry eyebrows bunched in that look that told her he was worried. She gave him a gentle smile and he laid his head back down, returning his gaze to Hunter.
Quickly, Cather wrapped a bandage around the dog’s leg, then stalked over to Adven.
“Please let me tend your wounds. It’s what I’m here for.”
Her unspoken words seemed to hang in the air, ‘I can’t help your friend but I can help you.’
Adven stared at her blankly for a moment, then yanked his shirt over his head, knocking his hat off in the process.
It was the first time Mayten had seen his entire face. A long scar rippled across his left cheek at an angle up to his hairline. The puckered scar closed an empty socket where his eye had been.
Mayten involuntarily shuddered. He caught her look, glaring at her with his good eye as if daring her to comment. She held his gaze, refusing to look away, until Cather poked at something and he winced.
“Hold still,” Cather said, her voice brooking no argument.
Mayten glanced at the man’s chest. It was covered with blood that appeared to come from a long slash across his ribs.
“You should have let me tend this sooner,” Cather said, pointing at her pack and waving Mayten over. “Now I’ll need to re-open it. This has to be cleaned and sewn closed so you won’t develop an infection. If treated promptly, the wound will heal. In time.”
Mayten handed Cather her pack and watched in astonishment. Cather seemed another person. She’d always been a quiet girl, not speaking up unless she absolutely had to. Mayten couldn’t imagine talking to Adven that way or even touching the man.
“Sit down,” Cather ordered. “And hold still.”
Mayten turned as her stomach roiled. She felt like she’d been running all day, exhaustion seeping into every muscle of her body.
That cat could have killed all of them—Tray, Adven, Anatolian. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she went to find solace in the one place she knew she could—the trees.

Chapter Fifteen
Mayten wanted nothing more than to surround herself with the hush of the old-growth redwoods after the scene of slaughter at the camp. She walked back through the dappled afternoon sunlight. It didn’t take long for her to retrace her steps and find herself surrounded by Old Ones. Her shaking slowed as she felt their presence.
Anatolian padded quietly by her side, their footsteps cushioned by thick layers of duff. The silent sentinels around her were so tall that she couldn’t see the top branches no matter how far back she craned her head. Even the air felt ancient here, unnaturally quiet.
Her bedroom was built with the wood from these trees and she felt at home in their presence. She found what she’d been looking for—a burned-out hollow