Tree Singer

in the base of one of the old giants. She crawled in and Anatolian settled next to her, positioning himself facing out of their little cave, his head resting on his injured leg.
The floor of her partial cave felt damp and smelled of rot and wisdom, the blackened ceiling inches above her head. Oddly, she couldn’t smell the old burn—it could have happened ten years ago or a hundred. The injury had caused the tree to create a hard, resin-like shell that kept bugs away and allowed it to keep growing. It also created a cozy nest.
Safe. Quiet.
A stark contrast to the chaos inside her battered mind.
Anatolian was asleep within moments, sunlight caressing the top of his head. Mayten rested a hand on the dog’s warm back and laid her head back against the inside of the tree as if it were her grandmother’s breast. She dried her tears and tried to push the sound of the screaming cat, the smell of blood, and the pale face of her beloved woodsman from her mind.
Mayten breathed deeply of the damp, earthy smell, her jangled nerves calming. She reached out to the tree. “Thank you, old friend.”
:Welcome, child.:
She should ask questions, see what she could find out. Wasn’t that why she’d come on this infernal mission?
But she ached for home. Hunter’s accident had brought on a longing to see her family, longing that hurt like a physical pain.
:I . . . hurt,: was all she could say. Only she hadn’t said it in words, she’d sent the emotions . . .
:Rest,: the tree whispered. A flood of peaceful images washed away her anxious thoughts. She drifted off to sleep like a yet-born baby, safe in its mother’s womb, comforted by the whisper of the wind in the trees, the chirp of birdsong, the sound of bees humming.
Hunger shook her awake as the smell of cooking meat made its way into her cave. Her stomach rumbled, yet she didn’t want to leave her quiet sanctuary. Then she heard her name. Cather was calling her. She had to go back.
“Thank you,” she breathed as she slowly crawled free of the trunk. She touched the hardened red bark of the tree and sent all the love she could, getting so much in return her heart felt full to bursting.
She was receiving more than emotions, she realized with a start. She could see images.
Level Four.
Anatolian stretched beside her as she looked up at the trees one last time, heart filled with gratitude, then headed back to camp.
“I’m coming,” she yelled, hoping no one would set out to search for her.
She got back to the clearing to find the big cat’s carcass had been taken away along with the bloody needles and duff. A fire burned near Hunter and huge chunks of fresh deer meat were roasting over it, filling the air with mouth-watering aromas.
Adven and Tray were in deep discussion off to one side of the fire, far enough Mayten couldn’t hear their conversation. Cather kneeled next to Hunter, squeezing water onto Hunter’s lips. She looked pale and exhausted.
Guilt washed over Mayten. She’d abandoned her friend—abandoned them all—just because she had to get away. She quickly crossed the clearing and kneeled next to Cather, lifting an eyebrow in question.
Cather gave a weak smile and shook her head, pressing the water-soaked cloth into Mayten’s hand. Without a word, Cather rose and went to sit, back against a tree, and closed her eyes.
Hunter seemed to be resting comfortably. Mayten leaned in and kissed his cheek, wishing she could transfer some of the peace she’d received from the trees to him.
His eyes opened and he gave her a smile that was barely a shadow of his usual, bright grin. “You’re very like your sisters, you know.”
She rocked back on her heels. “Hunter! You can talk?”
“Of course. I’m a storyteller, it’s what I do.” His grin faded and she could almost see his energy draining. “I had a crush on your sister, you know.”
“Taiwania?” Mayten knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Most men had a crush on her beautiful sister.
“No,” he said, and rolled his eyes in a way that made her laugh. “Zigba. I was the one in the story I told you. The one who tricked them.”
Mayten’s heart swelled and she blinked back tears, smiling at the thought of Hunter kissing Acerola who was pretending to be Zigba. “Did you ever tell her?”
He jerked as if trying to shake his head, wincing, as if the slight movement pained him. “Too shy.”
She frowned. He hadn’t seemed shy to her. Yet she’d been on his turf, his quest, and he wasn’t in love with her. But . . . her favorite sister, the one who knitted the socks she wore on her feet—Zigba. Zigba could have married Hunter. Then he would have been her brother-in-law.
A tear slipped down her face and dripped off her chin onto the woodsman’s cheek. She brushed it away with her thumb.
“I would have liked you for a brother,” she said, looking into his faded green eyes. His pale face looked sheet white and the red freckles stood out like flower petals floating on water.
“Ah,” he sighed, “better this way.”
He was right. If Hunter had been her brother-in-law, she’d be heading home to tell Zigba of her husband’s death. He knew it. She knew it.
They sat together in quiet as Tray bustled around the fire, working on dinner.
No one talked as they worked. Cather tried once to spoon broth into Hunter’s mouth but he choked and coughed, then turned his head away.
Adven stomped around the camp—did he think his anger was going to change things?— suddenly stopped, looming over Mayten. “Don’t ever leave the group without telling us where you’re going. Do you hear?”
Fear stopped Mayten’s breath. He looked ready to shake her.
She wanted to defend herself. She’d been safe in the trees, she knew the forest, but instead she nodded, hoping he’d go away.
“You could be killed in a heartbeat,” he growled before turning and stomping off.
While she’d been gone, it seemed someone