The heavy smell and sticky juice of purple and blue herbs filled Genista’s nose as she crushed them in her bare hands.

She’d hauled the seer to a healing branch after binding her prisoner in the lower roots of her home tree. She was exhausted due to her repeated healing attempts - her mind grew faint and her eyes heavy. She’d spent all day trying to revive the seer to talk with her about her vision, but she was failing. Again. She heart rate soared as she grunted. Her father had promised her one night only to determine the forest’s justice. Genista knew her time was running out.

The seer was sprawled out in front of her on the wood, unconscious. Her breaths were short and laboured. Her eyes sometimes fluttered open, but quickly shut again. Whatever she saw when she used the herbs on the captive, whatever magical force she felt with the exploding herbs, it had taken an immense spiritual and physical toll on her.

Genista inhaled. She would give the healing one last try. She sprinkled her mixture of crushed herbs over the elderly woman. They started to glow a faint purple as her mind filled with the wind in the canopies, the roots shooting messages between one another, blood seeping from raiders into the mossy forest floor. Genista’s muscles tensed and she strained. The herbs’ glow changed rapidly to a bright yellow, causing the seer to fall into an even deeper slumber as she inhaled the herbal powder.

Genista screamed. She threw a bunch of herbs off the home tree, leaving a trail of yellow powder floating in the air. The powder trickled down to the branch beneath her, where a shirtless Ifor walked right into it. He brushed the cloud away with a sneeze, then looked up at her sleepily. “What’s all the drama for, Genista?”

“Shut your mouth, Ifor,” she yelled. Genista hoisted the seer up and placed her gently against the trunk of the home tree. She grabbed a mossy branch that was covered in herbs. They started to glow green as she pulled them closer, and the branches wrapped around the seer, cradling her. Genista then jumped up and slid down a vine to Ifor’s branch. “You need to learn to mind your own business,” she said, thrusting a finger into his chest.

Ifor moaned and rolled his eyes before turning back towards his room. He pulled aside the leaves that made up his door and Genista followed him inside. The room was an extension of the home tree itself, the main branch making up the floor and smaller branches holding up a leafy roof. Ifor’s bow was tucked in the corner of his room next to his mirror. Brama was snoring his head off on a soft wool mat on the floor, his lean body wrapped in a leather blanket. His arm was wrapped tightly around a forest cat that he’d domesticated, who was purring away softly.

Ifor pulled on a shirt, sat at his desk, and continued to carve out an arrow. His arrows were the best in the forest. Genista hadn’t seen him make this one though. The wood was sleek and slender, glowing green as it bent to his will. Faint pink and blue herbs were woven throughout the wood. Uglier, twisted arrows littered the floor, obviously a symptom of Brama’s shoddy attempts at craftsmanship.

“What is that?” Genista said with awe, picking up one of Ifor’s completed arrows.

He snatched it back. “Are you daft? What does it look like?”

“I know what it is, you twinky idiot. I’m asking why does it have herbs in it, unlike these ugly pieces.” She kicked a bundle of Brama’s arrows across the room, rousing Brama’s cat from its slumber.

Ifor ran his hand through his blond hair. “The green herbs allow me to manipulate the wood without breaking it. The pink herbs give the arrow kinetic power. I’m trying out something new with the blue knowledge herbs. I’m hoping they can seek out my targets, the same way it helps the seer seek out knowledge.” He held up his newest arrow to the sunlight flickering through the leafy roof. “There are purple herbs in the tail feathers too. So if I miss, they still get a whiff of this.” The arrow started to glow, releasing a small yellow cloud from its end. “Neat, right?”

Genista was astounded. “That’s pretty fucking cool.” She grabbed a bundle. “Can I have some?”

Ifor chuckled, pulling them back and throwing them near his sleeping mat. “Ask your brother. I’m making these for him.” He pointed his new arrow towards Brama, who had rolled around in his sleep so much that the leather blanket was now barely covering his naked body.

“Eugh,” Genista exclaimed, blocking her eyes. “I’m not gonna ask that oaf for anything. Why do you even like him?”

Ifor placed the arrow on his desk, then approached Genista. “I like him because he’s a hot guy, and he’s kind and loving.” Brama pulled the cat closer to his bare chest, and reached out sleepily towards Ifor. “He’s also a pretty good hunter and puts food around our campfire every night. You might appreciate that one day, once you two get over your petty bullshit.” Ifor looked Genista up and down. “And when you stop being an insecure little brat.”

Genista’s jaw dropped. But Ifor hadn’t finished. He crawled back to bed, spooning Brama. He signed to her silently in shadowlanguage. “I also like him because when I tell him to rearrange my guts, he does it obediently. And he does it well.”

“Okay ew!” Genista screamed, running out of the room. She stood out in the cool forest air for a second, shuddering. “Rearranging guts?!” She screamed into the canopy in horror as her mind was filled of images of her brother getting nasty with his twink boyfriend.

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Genista grunted and regained her composure, albeit still slightly nauseous. She recalled her pressing mission at hand - delivering the forest’s justice to her captive. She looked up at where she’d left the seer. She seemed to be getting better, now resting peacefully against the trunk. The home tree’s branches held her tightly in their embrace, emanating slow, purple bursts of healing light as she rested. Genista felt as if the forest sensed her growing frustration, and was trying to help her deliver its justice by healing the seer for her.

But Genista didn’t have any more time to waste. Sunset would come soon, and her father said the forest wanted justice by then. She felt it was futile to spend more time trying - and failing - to heal the seer. She was not a good healer, it wasn’t in her blood. But she was a vicious warrior. If she couldn’t get the clarity she needed peacefully and patiently, she would get it through force.

Genista leant down and looked over the branch. Far beneath her, her captive sat uncomfortably in a tight enclosure within the roots of the home tree. His red hair stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the mossy roots and forest floor. Even from high up in the tree, Genista could see his bright blue eyes staring up at her. She felt uneasy, not least because the plains people weirdly slept under the moonlight and not the sunshine like her people did. She realised she’d been up all day healing the seer, and let out a giant yawn into the cold, damp forest air.

Her thoughts were cloudy, and she grew angry with her looming deadline and sleepiness. If her captive was going to stare at her, he could do it to her face, with his precious sunlight glistening off her dagger to his throat. Maybe that way she could get answers, or maybe the forest could have a hearty drink of warm blood tonight.

Genista ran around the branch to her own room, rummaging through the weapons strewn across her floor. She picked up the dagger she’d used to maim the other plains raider. It would be poetic, she felt, for this blade to taste the blood of two men in one day. She placed the dagger between her teeth and slid down a long vine to the base of the home tree, landing with a dull thud.

Genista approached her captive’s enclosure. He tried to recoil in fear as she spat the dagger back into her hand, but he had no space to move. Genista returned his earlier taunt with a deep, aggressive stare. She wasn’t staring at a man, she was staring at an animal.

A trapped animal.

A helpless animal.

A frightened animal.

Genista felt her gaze soften. She looked deeper into the man’s eyes. In them, she didn’t see her own reflection. She saw a pale, brown haired person walking through the forest, searching for him. She saw him and this person cradling a newborn child. She saw them tearing themselves apart as their child starved and withered away. She saw their grief as their baby had passed - no, she felt their grief.

Genista felt something wet roll down her face. She placed her hand up to stop the blood - she probably cut herself with her dagger while sliding down the tree. When she pulled her hand away, it was clean, albeit with a drop of water sparkling in the sunlight. That was weird, she thought, she didn’t know where the water had come from.

The captive’s desperate panting slowed as he watched her. She lowered her blade to her side.

Genista gulped. “Tell… tell me about the child.”

The captive, still wide-eyed with fear, shot back. “What child?”

Genista’s mind first filled with the child she saw in the captive’s eyes. Then she focussed herself. “When our seer used the herbs on you, she said you were a stolen child. She said us stealing you would bring pain and devastation on our land.”

“She was right,” he panted. “My village is going to find me.” He glanced down at her blade. “Dead or alive. Your precious forest’s justice will not protect you from their revenge. You will all be killed. And your forest will burn.”

Genista followed his line of sight towards her blade, then back to him. She was terrifying the man. She didn’t want to terrify him, not any more at least. She put the blade back in her belt. The man didn’t relax.

Genista knelt down to his level. He was a big man, about the same size and age as her father. She saw how his body was contorting in the tight roots. She felt bad. Genista found herself reaching for the roots. They started to glow green and expand, giving him more room.

The man wasted no time. As the roots started to expand, he burst free from captivity. Genista recoiled in surprise. The man jumped onto her and grabbed her throat. Genista’s eyes shot full of blood as they struggled and tossed each other around the forest floor. She went to kick him in the gut, but he was a stocky man and her legs were thin. The man strangled her, before he whacked her clean over the head with a heavy branch, knocking her into darkness.

Genista woke up several hours later, the moonlight rousing her back to consciousness. She rolled over and coughed painfully, spitting up blood and a few teeth. She gasped for air, clutching her bruised throat, and let out an empty, winded, painful cry.

The moonlight went dark as a tall shadow loomed over her. Weakly, she rushed to grab her dagger from her belt. Whoever was standing over her kicked it easily from her hand.

She felt a tug on her white hair, and a “tsk tsk tsk” in her ear. “Sister. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Fuck… you… Brama…,” she spat through blood.

“Aww, that hurts.” Brama let go of her hair, causing her to faceplant into the roots. She winced from the pain. He walked over to the broken prison and let out a long, psychotic laugh. “God, you’re such fuck up.”

Ifor galloped up to them with Brama’s horse. He readjusted a sleek ringlet of roots around his blond locks. “The hunters are preparing a search party for the captive, and a larger attack on the village. Come now Brama.” Ifor handed Brama his own root ringlet, and latched his bow around his chest.

Brama donned the ringlet and jumped onto the horse behind Ifor. He held out a hand to Genista with a smile. “Come along now sister. Now’s your chance to deliver the forest’s justice yourself.”

Genista scrunched her nose and huffed. It wasn’t like him to lend her any help. Ever. Still, she reached out reluctantly for Brama’s hand. As she did, he pulled it back and struck the horse’s rear, causing him and Ifor to gallop off in a rush with a cackle. “You’re a failure, Genista. You know it, father knows it, and the forest knows it too!” Brama’s laugh boomed throughout the leaves and faded as they left her behind.

Genista staggered off the ground with the help of a branch. She wiped her bloody face clean and retrieved her dagger. She started to cry, again. She felt humiliated by Brama and taken advantage of by her captive, compounding the pain from her attack and her frustration with her inability to heal the seer. Her tears dripped onto her blade. The moonlight shone onto it, reflecting her angry face.

As Genista hauled herself to the trees and turned towards the village, she resolved that her blade would be bathed in more than just tears tonight. Whether it would be plains’ blood, or her brother’s, she hadn’t decided. She would let the forest’s justice decide for her.