The northern and southern winds danced in a slow tango as they guided Genista’s cart through the forest.

The pathway through was smoother than usual. The roots retreated in respect and the mud hardened as the rusty wheels of the cart creaked their way towards home tree. The singed oak of the cart held sturdy under the weight of her father, a light blanket of moss covering his face and the wooden chest that held his bones. Her father’s fingers clutched tightly around his battle axe, which rested on his chest.

Genista was alone, save for the horse that the villagers had let her borrow to return home. The horse was strong and mighty, but occasionally let out anxious whinnies and puffs as it entered foreign land. The northern wind occasionally gusted through when the horse grew panicked, pulling small gaps apart in the canopy to let sunlight through to relieve its anxiety.

Forest villagers gathered on the pathway branches to watch Genista as she moved to the core of the forest with her father. Some looked on in shock, but most stood in steeled and respectful silence. Younger villagers used this little daggers to harvest some green herbs, sprinkling them over Genista and her father as they passed beneath them. They started to glow as the northern wind showered her in them, allowing her father to bend the journey to the afterlife to his will as he navigated his through next, and final battle.

The broken roots of her captive’s former prison stared Genista down as she approached home tree. She pulled the horse and cart to a stop in front of it, staring at the splintered wood for a second too long. She flinched as she recalled the red-haired captive jumping out at her, his thick brown fingers around her neck, his blue eyes dripping with fear and bloodlust and vengeance, her life in his grasp. She steeled herself. Warriors showed no fear, none at all, she told herself. No emotion. Emotion was for prey, and she was a predator.

Genista jumped off the horse, the musk of the moss heavy in the cold, damp air. She looked around the base of home tree. Many other people had already started to bury their fellow warriors in its roots. She turned to her father, again recalling how heavy he was - it had taken an additional four full grown plains villagers to help her haul him into the cart. Genista approached the tree and placed her palm against it. A slow blue light pulsed up the herbs and glowworms along the tree, calling more people to aid her.

Several hunters slid down the vines. One held the seer, now partially recovered, but still fragile. They approached the cart, letting out deep, guttural, defeated wails into the canopy as they saw their leader’s dead body. Some more hunters approached after burying their own loved one’s, letting out louder wails for the dead chief than their own dead brothers and sisters. Genista approached them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders in turn, thanking them for their valour and sacrifices in last night’s battle. Many hands reached in to the cart and pulled her father out, their clutches lingering as they placed him against the base of home tree, desperate to absorb some of his mighty bloodright as he passed to the next world. Genista took the wooden chest and placed it in her father’s lap, and his axe above that in his hands.

Another firm set of feet landed in the moss as Ifor swung down a vine. He approached Genista and looked down at his chief, his face cast with a steel resolution. “I’m sorry for your loss, sister.”

Genista looked down at her father, her eye just barely holding on to a stray tear. “This sadness isn’t mine to bear alone. Our village and forest have lost their mightiest son.” She looked up to Ifor. “Where’s Brama?”

Ifor’s jaw clenched. He called out for her brother. Genista gasped as Brama emerged from behind home tree. Her eyes traced the length of the horrific scar down the left side of his beautiful face. She stared deep into his left eye, and the twisted roots now in its placed. Brama was a shadow of his former self. His remaining lilac eye sunk deep into his skull in shame, avoiding contact with hers. His white hair was dishevelled, its tips seared black by flames, his pale skin red from sunburn and smeared with soot and blood. Genista thought she’d revel in seeing her cruel, sadistic brother get his comeuppance. Instead, her heart sank with shame and pity. He would have been more dignified had he died in battle, she thought.

Brama approached their father. His chest shook as he saw his father’s head cleaved in two. He struggled to stand tall and strong and resolute in front of his sister and boyfriend and fellow warriors. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his father’s arm. “What happened?” His voice shook as he looked to Genista, his wide eyes welling up with tears.

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Genista sat on the other side of their father, across from Brama. “I don’t know. I was incapacitated.” She placed her hand on her father’s.

Brama’s brow furrowed. “Incapacitated in battle?” he snared.

Genista shot her eyes at him quickly, then back to her father in shame. “Yes. I entered a house and was ambushed,” she lied. “I woke up in the morning in the rubble, alone. I found him in a stable then, his body surrounded by villagers.”

Blood shot through Brama’s eye. “Did you kill them?” Genista hesitated. “Did you kill them Genista?!” He clutched their father’s arm tighter. Genista stuttered. “Genista, please tell me they’re dead!” he begged. Tears flowed down both their faces.

“No!” she yelled. “No, I didn’t.”

Brama screamed, slamming his fist into the ground. “Why not?!”

“Because…” Genista stopped herself short of admitting Fern revived her. “There were too many of them. I couldn’t. The sun was rising, the battle was over. It was too late.”

Brama was sick of Genista’s excuses. He screamed at her. Genista recoiled as Brama leapt over their father and tackled her to the ground. Their fellow warriors yelled in horror as they threw each other through the mud and moss. Brama’s fist cracked into Genista’s cheek as he yelled, “You’re a dumb, stupid coward! You don’t deserve to be here! You should have died!”

Genista struggled back. Brama was a lean man, and not nearly as big as the captive that attacked her the other night. He grunted as she sent her knee into his gut, cracked her forehead against his, and threw him by his shoulders onto the floor. “Coward?!” She screamed into his face. “I didn’t need rescuing from battle, unlike you, you daft twink.” Her hand came up empty as she went to grab the dagger, forgetting that she’d gifted to Fern. She cracked a fist across his face instead. “I brought father back home! You fled in dishonour!” Genista buried her hand in the ground, covering her nails in filth. Brama screamed as she clawed into his fresh scar.

“Enough!” Ifor hoisted Genista off Brama, kicking and screaming. He pinned her against home tree and leant into her. “Genista! Your father is dead. Our leader is dead. He’s lying right here. Don’t disrespect him by drawing your brother’s blood over him,” he whispered forcefully.

Genista struggled in his grasp, now crying hysterically. “He hurt me first Ifor! You saw it! Get off me!” She screamed and planted a firm kangaroo kick into Ifor’s gut. He let her go as he stumbled back, and she ran off into the forest in tears.

The warriors looked to Ifor, their hearts filled with a kaleidoscope of anger, sadness, pity, shame, fear. They had no idea how to process what they’d just witnessed. A son and daughter of the forest drawing each other’s blood above their dead father’s body was not the forest’s way.

Ifor regained his composure, bracing his gut. He winced - Genista had a powerful kick, he was sure something had burst inside him. His eyes shot around the forest looking for her. They then welled up with tears. His heart sunk with pity and shame for Genista. She was a mighty warrior, and deeply connected with their culture - he couldn’t believe she’d leave them to bury her father without her. He knew she would regret not seeing her father in his final moments.

Still, he fixed his hair and looked to Brama. His scar was weeping slightly, but Genista hasn’t done much damage. He leant down to him. “You’ll be okay. I’ll heal you more later,” he whispered so that the other warriors couldn’t hear. Brama sniffled, wiping blood from his lip, and nodded slightly. Ifor placed a gentle kiss on his hair.

Ifor moved to sit across from his former chief. The other warriors approached them as he placed his finger tips into the forest floor. “Help me out Brama. Let’s bury him together.”

Brama buried his fingers in the moss and mud across from Ifor. The seer approached her chief’s feet, letting out a low, rhythmic chant as she spun in slow circles, dancing with the northern and southern winds. The forest shone as the herbs and mushrooms glowed blue all around. Home tree pulsed in many lights - greens and pinks and purples. The northern wind harmonised with powerful native birdsong and the wails of forest cats, stirring through the canopies. Brama and Ifor’s fingers glowed a bright green. Root tendrils cracked and grew around Brama and Genista’s father, slowly making their way across the red and green fabric of his battle armour and throughout his beard. Branches shot out from home tree, growing down his arms with purple pulses, stretching across his axe along with his fingers. Ifor and Brama looked on as he became fully encased in roots, and sunk slowly into the earth as the seer chanted and wailed.

In the distance, small roots clutched to Genista’s feet as she ran through the northern forest in tears, begging her to return to her father’s burial. The northern wind blasted in her ear. “My daughter, my vicious warrior. Go back to your father. You will regret this.”

Genista screamed back, the gusts overpowered by her uncontrolled wailing. She had tried to stay strong for her people, for herself, but it was all too much for her. Her father, Brama, the captive, the fires, the death and destruction. She’d pushed it too deep for too long and she couldn’t handle it anymore.

Genista kept crying as she ran towards the northern edge of the forest, and she planned to keep running until she couldn’t anymore.