The forest trees gathered along Ifor’s path like frenzied media as he galloped desperately back to home tree.

At first they approached him as if to soak up his fame and battle glory, the new sunlight breaking through the leaves in blinding flashes. He thought the trees would retreat for him when they saw he was carrying a gravely wounded son of the forest, but they didn’t. They drew closer, became more frenzied, and tried to swallow him and his horse.

Ifor knew he had little time to save Brama. His boyfriend, the chief’s son, lay unconscious, limp and bloodied over the back of his horse. Ifor repeatedly kicked the horse’s side, hastening it into the northern wind. “Faster!” he commanded. The horse let out a bloodcurdling whinny, and kept flying through the forest.

Their path was not easy. Ifor had ridden these paths with Brama many times on this same horse, and he knew them like the back of his hand. When he got lost, if he ever did, he was usually able to follow any trail of glowing herbs and mushrooms that grew outwards along the roots of home tree in every direction.

But the forest had changed rapidly overnight. The inferno had ripped throughout the whole southern half of the forest. The canopy had gaping holes in it, letting in an invasive sunlight that overpowered the herbs’ glow, rendering the existing routes useless. Wild roots and vines grew out of the ground where they had not existed yesterday, blocking off his usual paths.

Ifor pulled his horse to a sudden stop as he came across one such blockage. He grunted through grated teeth. He had no time to jump off his horse every time, touch the roots, and withdraw them, and proceed to the next inevitable obstacle. Ifor quickly jumped off and pummelled his palm into the forest floor. Lines of glowing herbs emanated from his hand, shooting along the floor, trying valiantly to find a clear route home. But line after line, they glitched and fizzled out, their light fading back into the earth.

Ifor grunted again. He had no choice but to resort to dangerous and destructive magic to save Brama. He prayed the forest would understand his desperation and forgive him later. He reached into his quiver, pulled out one of his few remaining arrows, and drew his bow. He aimed at the wall of roots blocking him. He drew a deep breath, and charged his bow with destructive magic. The arrow started to glow a bright mix of green and pink, growing brighter as he held it for what felt like an eternity. He let the arrow fly.

It struck the roots with an explosion of pink and green fire. The forest recoiled, stunned that one of his sons would attack him. Ifor held his arm to his face to protect himself from the explosive heat and bright light. He then cast another arrow behind him into the ground, this one only glowing green, causing another wall of roots to sprout up to block any followers. Ifor jumped back on the horse as the last roots that survived the blast retreated from him in pain. “Let’s go now!” He slammed his heel into the horse, who screeched, and they sped off.

The trees grew denser as Ifor made his way to the core of the forest. The inferno had still reached this far deep though, and the piercing sunlight intermittently blinded him as he shot more explosive arrows into barriers. Eventually they came to a clearing a few hundred meters from home tree. The horse let out a panicked whinny as the dawn sunlight blinded it, its hoof struck a root, and the three of them went tumbling.

Ifor grunted and went rolling across the forest floor, his root ringlet flying off his head and into the trees. His fall was barely cushioned by the plenitude of dead herbs littering the ground. He let out a winded wince as he hoisted himself up by a grazed elbow, and looked around.

The horse had collapsed over an unconscious Brama. The horse let out panicked screams as Ifor rushed to them. Its back leg had shattered in the fall, the broken bone sticking out from the skin. Ifor smacked the ground. He picked up handfuls of dead purple herbs from the ground and stuffed them in the horse’s nose. He sniffled tearfully as he placed his hands over its eyes. He made the herbs glow yellow. A bright, powerful yellow - the brightest he’d ever managed. The horse’s cries quietened, its breathing slowed, and its eyes growing heavy as Ifor euthanised it. Ifor tenderly ran his hand through its mane one last time, as he and Brama had done for years.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Ifor then turned to Brama, who was trapped face down under the horse’s heavy thigh. Ifor moved behind the horse and placed his hands to its back, straining as he shoved it off Brama. It’s white fur covered Brama’s black, silky forest armour. Ifor flipped him around, recoiling at the grievous gash Brama had received across his face during his battle in the butchery. The cut still seeped with blood, but now oozed with pus. Pain and panic shot through Ifor’s mind. He had to heal Brama now, in a wild clearing under painful sunlight, or risk him dying in a rush to home tree.

Ifor ran to a nearby tree and pulled off handfuls of fresh herbs from its bark, then returned to Brama. His hands trembled and burned from the rising sun as he delicately placed the herbs in Brama’s wounds. Brama began to writhe in pain, returning to consciousness. Ifor shoved more herbs up his nose, made them glow a gentle yellow, and sent him back into a restful slumber.

The wound was horrific. The rusty butcher’s knife did not cut through him cleanly. The skin around the cut looked serrated, like the teeth of a saw. Ifor needed more than just herbs to heal him. He returned to the tree to yank out a small, sturdy root from the ground. He returned to Brama, holding the edge of the root to his face. He made it glow green. The root extended its fingers into Brama’s skin with gentle cracks as it expanded, stitching his wound back together, the forest’s skin becoming part of his.

Ifor opened Brama’s injured eye. It had turned black and purple, sliced right through. It was pointless to try and heal this, he thought. Ifor pulled out one of Brama’s daggers, placed it in his eye socket, pulled it out, and threw it into the forest to quench its thirst for blood and flesh. A small offering, but one that should satisfy the forest for a while - the blood of a son of the forest was worth tenfold that compared to the blood of the plains. As it landed in the moss, small root tendrils wrapped around it, with a barrage of famished insects and small birds swarming to consume it as it slowly sank back into the forest.

Ifor then placed both hands over Brama’s face. He closed his eyes, his mind shooting through the forest’s roots, the northern wind through its leaves, the sunshine casting shadows through his fingers. He felt a purple glow emanate from him. The roots and herbs glowed purple too, weaving Brama’s skin back together, the roots forming a ball in his eye socket. Ifor felt weak, his pale skin starting to turn red in the daylight.

Ifor tearfully caressed Brama’s face, his hands shaking. “My love, wake up.” His blond hair fell into Brama’s as he placed a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “Please,” he said weakly.

Brama’s remaining eye fluttered open. Ifor giggled softly in relief. “My moonlight,” Brama groaned, raising his head slightly to look around, colourful herbs strewn throughout his white locks. “What happened? Where are we?”

Ifor brushed Brama’s hair aside tenderly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You fell in battle. Gloriously. You were ambushed by two men though, so I had to help you. We’re back in the forest now.”

Brama let out an exhausted puff as he lowered his head to the ground. He wrapped an arm around Ifor. “Please don’t lie to me. There’s sunlight. We’re not in the forest.”

“We are, my love. The plains people burnt our home, don’t you remember? An inferno ripped through. There’s sunshine now.”

Brama blinked. His memory of the past few days was hazy. He noticed only one eye closing. He timidly raised his hand to his left eye socket, feeling the wood now there. He looked at Ifor, fear shooting through him. He’d never been defeated before.

“You’re okay Brama,” Ifor reassured him. “But you need more time to heal and rest. I’ll take you back to home tree.”

Tears welled up in Brama’s eye. “I don’t want father to see me like this,” he whispered shamefully.

“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it. You can stay at mine.”

Brama pouted and frowned, crying as he resigned himself to his newfound defeat. Ifor jumped off him. He walked to the edge of the clearing, the roots glowing green as he fashioned a root cocoon with vines attached so that he could pull Brama back to home tree. He placed a layer of moss at the bottom for Brama’s comfort.

Brama shifted into the cocoon, timidly. Ifor lashed the vines over his shoulders, and proceeded to haul Brama home.