Hidden Spirit

Chalter Eighteen: Dying by the Wind

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Mid-Autumn
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Feren silently stalked through his woods after catching an unfamiliar scent through the area. He'd brushed it off at first. Until just as waves of the burnt smell drifted, so did waves of the dry and tired energy left behind.

He knew it hadn't been Amelia.

As he walked, he followed a trail of withered leaves. It wasn't entirely abnormal for mid-autumn that these leaves would have fallen, but these withering trees followed a straight line for several paces. He reached to them and couldn't feel any life from them. 

He shrugged it off as seasonal change. It made sense, then, that any uneasiness was simply a fragment of a dream.

But then, when Grey had run to make his rounds, he was drawn to the same barren area of the woods. While the Voerr waited for his spirit to reach the odd clearing, Feren sat back. It could've very well been any sort of trap. Not that any man should be after him. He was the hunter, not the prey.

Still, the chorded being crept forward. The smell was not so much burnt as raw, as if the bark had been sloughed from the trees. When he neared, he confirmed the assumption. The ground was roughly beaten, and the younger trees were not just lifeless grey but cracked and broken; their insides dry and ashen, their branches leafless. This pocket of the forest appeared to be out of the dead of winter, despite the lack of a first snowfall. To confirm, Feren reached up to grab a branch of a tree. It snapped in two the second he rested his hand atop it. There was no hint at life within. 

Something in his energy shifted as Grey alerted him. He turned his head just to hear some light footsteps and, changing his focus, he moved in that direction.

He smirked at the girl when she caught look of him. She was sitting up on a tree branch, with Grey lying beneath her.

"And good morning to you," he greeted, continuing his walk beneath her without much more than a glance.

The leaves rustled as she dropped to catch up behind him. "It's better now."

He nodded in response.

Grey ran ahead to find whatever else it was that had rustled. Most likely another rabbit.

"Can you swim, princess?"

She seemed surprised at first. "Yes. Quite well, I suppose. Why? There is only the one pool here, correct? Will we be returning?"

"May be a bit cold, but if you'd like." He shrugged. "I don't suppose hunting is the sport of royalty; Firican or not?"

"Most Voerr do not eat meat, but we have no objection to hunting for survival."

"So no."

"I've never gone, personally."

He stopped and turned, brow raised. "Have you ever killed?"

For a moment her jaw worked, weighing his question, wondering what he was poking at. "Not anything with a heartbeat."

He turned back to walk; he tried to think of where their definitions of 'kill' differed. "Oh."

Instead of hanging back behind, she chose to take his side wherever the space between the trees allowed. They were moving north somewhat, though she didn't know where. She didn't know that Feren was just pointedly trying to keep her from the area he'd stalked that morning.

The rest of the area seemed alive that day. Even for an autumn day.

She looked up at the curious mix of trees: some still green, some shifting through the warm shades, others nearly bare already. But each one was tall and sturdy, and still hid the birds that remained during winter. Constentine had many more trees with needle studs than broad leaves. She enjoyed the smells of both.