Storm Singer

I am standing among dark trunks, breathing loam-thick air perfumed by clusters of sweetmoss that make this dream of mine feel real. Something has unsettled the forest. There is no caw of crows, no chitter of indignant squirrels or huffs of sleepy boar that root with their tusks in the rich dirt.

There are no sounds at all.

Dawn's light peeks through trees ahead of me, slivers of pink-gold that cut between tree trunks and illuminate the undergrowth's leaves. The light grows stronger with every step I take until I need to lift a hand to shield my eyes. I squint to see what could possibly be so bright so far into the forest. My eyes water, but I manage to make out the sun itself half-hidden by tree trunks.

The sun belongs in the sky. It is too hot to be down among us, and its heat curls branches with hisses and pops until trees burst into flame one after the other. The sun will kill the forest. It will kill me too if I do not flee.

How can I leave? The forest is more than my home, it is what feeds me, keeps me safe. I cannot run away and leave it to burn.

The sun grows, sparking wildfire in its orbit. I choke on acrid smoke, eyes stinging as flame devours the forest around me. I cover my face with my hands, but the brightness is still blinding, the heat still sears. And then, as it grows to be too much... I hear a voice whisper my name.

"Irati?"

I wake up, coughing up the taste of smoke. My hut is dark and cool. The only sounds I hear are the huffy snores from my daughter. Ibai sleeps in a hammock across from mine, only the lump of her body and delicate point of her ear visible in the dim light that sneaks under our oilskin doorflap.

I watch as her ear flicks and trembles as she dreams. I hope that she is having better dreams than her mother.

I want nothing more than to crawl into the hammock next to her and press soft kisses to wiggly ears until Ibai's snores lull me to better sleep.

As tired as I am, I cannot shake off the sizzle of the sun or the familiarity of the voice that called my name. A voice that I have not heard, nor even dreamt of in many years. Reluctantly I slip from my hammock and pull on my leather tunic. I tie my belt in place while taking slow, deep breaths.

I will go check the trails to prove that this was simply a dream. That the voice was only a dream.

I will be back before sunrise, to sleep next to my snoring daughter and wake her with tickles to her ears. It's a promise to myself that gets moccasins on my feet, and my bow slung over my shoulder.

I duck under the oilskin flap and out to the platform of my home. Grateful, I listen to this real forest. It is not quiet. An owl hoots in greeting and a pair of raccoons argue over something on the ground below. The air is cool on my skin and fresh with the scent of sweetmoss that grows on the titan oak that holds my hut aloft. The giant trees cradle our homes like mothers, though this late at night most homes are dark. The one home that is lit is that of our chief, a fire's embers glowing still, tended by a guard.

I whistle a soft greeting: twuh-ee-oo.

The response is curious. Twa-wee-eet? Why am I up? And that's a question worthy of an answer with proper words. The cedar bark rope bridge creaks under my moccasins as I hurry across it to the chief's home.

"You're up early," Aroa teases as I reach the Chief's platform, a smile on her face. "Is Ibai having nightmares again?" The granddaughter of our shaman, Aroa and I have grown to be... friendly.

"Not Ibai," I say, greeting Aroa with a dip of my head. "Can you watch over her for some time? I-"

"Your face is covered with soot, Irati," Aroa says, her callused fingers gentle as she wipes at my forehead. I look at her hand as she pulls it back, and see she has told the truth. No, not just a dream then.