The warm southern wind argued with the morning sun over the plains. They were in a lover’s quarrel. They could each smell the heavy linger of ash and blood in their home, and both accused each other of sleeping with the seductress of death.

Fern could smell it too. The air of the village hung heavy with a pleasant smell of burning oak wood. It reminded her of her grandmother placing logs in their fireplace. But the northern wind forced the pungent smell of burning and rotting flesh into her nose, which she couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard she tried.

Fern now had a full panoramic view of the plains. It was gorgeous, she thought. To the east, rolling yellow fields shifted like waves beyond the dry river. To the south, more fields rolled and bubbled as far as the eye could see, its grass glistening as the sun pierced the southeastern sky. To the west, she finally saw the foot of the mountains, their mighty peaks breaking out of the earth like a baby teething. Even the northern mountains, once fully obscured by the forest, were partially visible. Pockets of light shone through the gaping holes left by the inferno, with bundles of herbs unsure whether to quiver or bask in the newfound sunshine.

Fern was quickly reminded of why these views and smells were so new to her. None of her villages buildings remained after the forest’s raid, except for Deryn’s stable, which she stood outside of. The fires had dissipated, but smouldering piles of cinders still littered the plains. The surviving villagers wandered around the remains of their town. Some in agony, some in terror, most in a complete daze. Fern looked down the road at her own home. Even it was reduced to a pile of ash.

Fern snapped out of her own daze and back to reality. Both her grandmother and that forest girl were still in her house. She wiped her mouth, trying and failing to get rid of the soot covering it, instead just wiping blood all over her face from the man she’d just killed with Deryn. She turned back to the stable and her family. Eira was silently looking around at the village too, in shock. Deryn was sweeping up piles of blood and bone from his floor with a broom. Ako and Aeron sat next to the dead horse in the pen, both in a catatonic state.

“Eira, Deryn, come with me,” Fern commanded before bolting off. Eira followed silently, then Deryn, after placing his broom against the wall.

The three of them approached Fern’s home. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t all burnt to ash, she noticed. Most of it had collapsed into a pile of stone and wooden rubble. Fern looked at the footprint of her home, then up at the sky where the second story used to be. She felt a gaping hole in her heart.

Fern approached where the front door used to be. The frame still stood, but no walls. Her pathway in was blocked by ash and twisted wood. She looked up to where her grandmother’s room once was, and traced her eyes to where it would’ve fallen. The stairwell had collapsed under the room. Afon’s bed hung from the splintered rail, its springs burst and its feathers floating in the air. “Go find her,” she told Deryn. Deryn walked around to the back of the house to search for Afon’s body.

Fern then turned to the living room. She’d left the forest girl on the couch after her dad knocked her out. The chimney on the fireplace had collapsed all over where the couch was, its bricks scattered everywhere. But Fern noticed a flimsy net of roots had encroached over the couch.

Fern jumped into the ash and rubble. She pulled some roots away. The girl was still there. She was severely injured, her body bruised and burned and covered in soot. But she was breathing. Fern pulled more roots out of the way, and pulled Genista outside.

Genista felt herself being pulled from the cocoon by the heavy sunlight. The splintered roots pierced into her burns. As she was moved outside, the morning sun seared her bright purple eyes. She wanted to cover them, but struggled to raise her arms. Her mind was dull, struggling to keep her breathing at the very least, but her pain started to return to her body in dull throbs with each heartbeat. Her mind went black as she was placed in the cold grass outside, its dewy blades sending paralysing shocks down her body.

As Fern placed Genista in the grass, Deryn came around the corner of the house. He was gently cradling Afon’s small body in his big arms. Eira approached them, their purple eyes tearing up as they stroked Afon’s hair. Eira ripped off a piece of cloth from their sleeve and proceeded to clean the soot from Afon’s face. Despite the chaos she’d been through, even in death, she still looked peaceful.

Genista’s body started to quiver. Fern scanned her in panic. Her throat was grievously bruised, her lips caked in dry blood, the rest of her body covered in blistering burns.

Fern wasted no time. She raced to Deryn and reached into his pocket, pulling out the purple herbs that Aeron had given him before they went to search for Ako. Fern raced back to Genista. She vaguely recalled what her grandmother had done to heal Aeron. She placed a herb in each of Genista’s hands, her mouth, and her throat, and sprinkled the rest over her exposed burns, not wanting to risk breaking the blisters by smearing it over her.

Fern then placed one hand over Genista’s face, her other hand over Genista’s left hand. This was as much as she remembered seeing her grandmother do. She had to make the herbs glow now, but didn’t know how.

The warm southern wind whispered deep into her right ear. “Use me,” it said softly. “Think of me. Think of the river’s rush.”

The reeking northern wind retreated from her nostrils. It let out a raspy, grating whisper into her left ear. “And me too. And the forest.”

Fern listened. Deryn and Eira watched on as she stretched her short fingers out over Genista. Her body filled with the warmth of the southern wind. She heard the leaves of the forest sway and rustle in the northern wind. She imagined the river trickling back gently, the berries and riverbed drinking up its clear, fresh water. And she imagined the sun, its heat baking into her bones.

The southern and northern winds swirled around the girls as Fern felt a warmth and light emanate from her palms. The light was a bright, incapacitating yellow. The winds swirled harder and harder in unison, and the sun burned brighter. The light changed to a healing purple.

Genista felt a soothing warmth run across her skin. Her neck popped with a relieving crack. The taste of blood from her mouth retreated, and she felt hydrated. The blisters on her body hardened and flaked off, sending a rush of dopamine through her head. Her eyes slowly opened. The sun was bright and purple, then it faded. The girl next to her withdrew her hand from her face.

Fern watched as the forest girl came back to life. Her eyes fluttered open, and then rolled to hers. Fern thought the girl would be afraid of her. But she slowly and calmly roused, staring at her peacefully. Genista tried to speak, but couldn’t. She signed a weak “thank you” in shadowlanguage, not knowing if the other girl could read it.

Fern turned back to Eira and Deryn. “Deryn, please take grandma to the stable. We can bury her later today.” Deryn nodded and walked off with Afon in his arms. “Eira, please bring some water and berries for the girl.”

Eira nodded silently. They walked to the ruins of Fern’s kitchen and rummaged through the ash. They pulled out a small leather package of berries that survived the fire. Afon’s water pot rested under the smouldering remains of their table. It was dented and bloody on the outside, but there was still a trickle of dirty water inside.

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Eira brought the items to the forest girl, sitting behind her. Eira raised the girl’s head and placed her in their lap, before trickling some water and dropping some berries into her mouth. “Here you go darling.”

Genista swallowed weakly. A small part of her strength returned to her. “Thank you,” she croaked. Her arms still stung slightly, pockmarked with burn scars.

Eira stroked her face. “What is your name?”

“Genista.” She swallowed painfully, although less painfully than before. Berry juice dripped from her lips.

“Genista. Like the tree. That’s a beautiful name.” Eira smiled. “I’m Eira. This is Fern.”

Fern pointed at Genista. “She saved us in the forest yesterday. She did the thing with the roots.”

Eira looked at Genista curiously. “Did you now? That’s very kind.”

Genista looked away. She pushed herself up with a struggle into a sitting position and looked around the village. She was struck by the scale of devastation. The burnt homes, the corpses, the blood soaking the dirt streets, the thick ash. But the village was coming back to life. People were embracing each other, crying, laughing, sharing food. Some were sweeping up the rubble, singing songs as they cleaned. Others had started building wagons from the twisted wood, and were starting to place dead bodies in them. They even put her own dead people in wagons, Genista noted, even though they had attacked them. Just like how Fern had saved her despite her breaking into her home. Her feelings of mourning gave way to appreciation and respect for the villagers, and hope amidst the devastation.

Genista rolled away and turned to Fern and Eira, giving them a serious look. “My brother led the attack. Let me join you to face him, as thanks.”

Eira smiled softly. “There’s no need to keep fighting, darling. Look around.” They pointed into to the village. “Both of our peoples have suffered catastrophic losses today. Now is the time to heal and recover.”

“And forgive,” Fern said, looking up to Genista with a somber but determined face. “This whole thing was pointless. No one has won. Lots of people are hurt or dead. Both of our homes are destroyed.” She pointed to both her own home and the gaping forest. “There’s a better future ahead of us, we just need to create it. That’s what my grandmother said. We need to move on from this.”

Genista looked to Fern, then to the stable. “Was that her? The woman who passed?” Fern nodded. “I saw her last night. When I came to your house.” Fern blinked, her face blank, tinged lightly with sadness and anger. Genista looked up at the sky. “She died peacefully. She looked happy. I want that to be me when I go.”

Fern corrected her. “She sacrificed herself to save my father,” she said sternly. “It wasn’t her time. He was attacked and almost killed in the forest the other night.”

Genista grated her teeth, her chest pinging with guilt. “Ooh… that might’ve been me.” Fern looked at her in disbelief. Eira pursed their lips. “Red hair? Skinny?”

“That’s the one…” Fern said, seething.

“Sorry…” Genista looked around sheepishly. She slowly drew her dagger and handed it by the handle to Fern, who jumped. Genista then exposed her neck, now healed, and pointed to her veins. “You’re welcome to harm me in return. It’s the fair thing.”

Fern took the dagger, flipping it in her hand, entranced by how the sunlight danced off of it. “I’ll certainly keep it in mind…” Eira looked at them both in disbelief, stared at the dagger, and laughed awkwardly. Fern tucked the dagger into her belt and stood up. “We’ve got more important things to do now though. You’re helping us clean up.” She pointed to the stable. “One of your people is in there. He’s dead. Come get him.”

Fern walked to the stable, with Genista following loyally behind. Just before they reached the door, Fern turned to Genista. “Don’t let my father see you. You will scare him.”

Genista nodded. Fern opened the door and walked in first, stepping over the corpse on the floor and entering the horse pen. She stood in the gate, blocking Aeron and Ako from seeing Genista.

Genista looked down at the man in front of her. It was a gruesome scene. His thigh had been carved out, his head smashed in two, his white beard soaked with blood. Genista took a deep breath and stared at her dead father, wanting to cry. The hammer and axe that took him from this world rested against the wall of the stable, their blades covered in his dry blood. Genista steeled herself. She took another breath, propped up her chest, and shook any grief she would have felt into calmness. Her father had perished in battle. His was a dignified death, one befitting his status and bloodright.

Deryn approached her with a wooden chest and her father’s battle axe. Genista took both and looked inside the chest. It was filled with bones and blood. “So that he may rest in one piece,” Deryn said, with a sad but dutiful nod. Genista looked at him with shock and thanks, again struck by the villagers’ respect for the deceased, even their enemies.

Her father was a large man, and she could not possibly carry him herself. She walked to the town square and approached some villagers who were hauling her people into carts, asking them for help. They obliged. Genista returned to the stable with the villagers, and carried her father away with them to the town square. She wanted to cart him back to the forest herself and lay him to rest under the roots of the home tree, where he could become one with the forest once again.

As the noon sun peaked, Deryn pulled a makeshift cart to the riverside.

Aeron and Fern followed closely behind, with Eira and Ako behind them. They made their way to the burial plot that Aeron had dug yesterday to lay his mother to rest by her river.

Deryn pulled the cart to a stop under the oak trees. The leaves greeted them, the sunlight warm as it passed through their green skin, the air heavy with the smell of pollen. Aeron approached the cart and pulled a thin cloth veil off Afon’s face. He weeped gently as he caressed his mother’s face. She looked happy though, he thought. She knew she was returning home. Fern came to his side, looking lovingly at her grandmother. She still looked as beautiful and wise as ever, her face still full with love, Fern thought.

Aeron reached under Afon’s shoulders, Deryn grabbing her lower back, and the two of them lowered her into the ground. A faint layer of ash floated up as they laid her to rest. Eira walked to the grave side and spoke a few words from their father’s homeland.

“Day and night. Grief and love. Life and death. People often divide our world into binaries. It steels the mind and clarifies one’s actions, providing purpose, identity, and belonging.

“But it blinds us to the reality. Day and night are lovers, holding and guiding our world like a child in a parent’s embrace. Grief would not be possible without love, and neither love without grief. Both make life worth living, and both give us all something to fight for.

“Likewise, death is a natural part of life. It is not the end of a legacy. One’s death offers a chance for us to celebrate their life, their love, their accomplishments, and to reflect on their flaws. It also represents a chance for the torch to be passed to the next generation.

“Afon’s legacy of unconditional love, duty, and sacrifice to her family and village will be carried on by all of us gathered here today. We stand here, burdened by the weight of catastrophic and unnecessary violence, in love and peace. We stand determined to build a brighter future, as Afon was determined to do herself. Vale, Afon.”

Eira leant down and picked up a pile of dirt, placing it in Aeron’s hand, who cast it upon his mother. The others followed suit. Fern heaved a whole bunch in in one big push. As the mound built over Afon, Aeron planted a small purple herb on top, and Eira planted a tea sapling at the head of the grave, so that Afon could have her favourite drink as she moved to the afterlife. Its small leaves were dwarfed by the canopy of the three oak trees on Afon’s families’ graves. Aeron was worried it would not get enough sunlight or water to survive.

Afon’s family bid her their final goodbyes. The southern wind carried gentle melodies of birdsong above as most of them walked back home to help the village. Fern remained at her grandmothers grave for a few more hours in silence.

As the sun set, Genista made her way to the riverside. She saw Fern, who had fallen asleep next to Afon’s grave, Genista’s dagger clutched in her hand. A small sapling - another peculiar burial rite for the plains people, Genista thought - looked thirsty for water and sunlight. She approached the grave and the sapling. Genista dug her fingers into the soil and closed her eyes. The sapling glowed a light green, with shimmers teal. Its roots shot deep into the earth, soaking into groundwater that had never been tapped. The sapling grew more leaves to soak in the setting sun, its vitality returning to it. Genista did the same to the herbs that Aeron had planted. They sprouted up all over the burial mound in all kinds and colours. It was the least she could do to show her respect. Genista knew the herbs couldn’t survive in direct sunlight, but the shade from the oak trees would likely protect them. She went to boost the oak trees too, but felt that they were already stronger than anything she could create.

Genista gave one last look at a sleeping Fern as she left for the forest to bury her father under the home tree and moonshine.