“Welashrepal, who is this?” The spear tip lowers, flicking at the hem of my white cape. “It looks like a Lefan, but it does not bear their mark.” I watch the humanoid frown. Its green hands tightened around the shaft of its spear. The material isn’t the same white as the tip, but I’m not sure what it’s made of.

Wail’s voice calls from behind me, edged with excitement. “Shriend. Not Lefan.”

“You know we cannot accept it.” The direction of the being's gaze makes it very clear what ‘it’ is, and I reflexively open my mouth to say I’m not an ‘it’. However, the words turn into a gasp when the flex of muscles causes the spear tip to nick the skin of my neck. It’s probably best not to risk my left correcting the statement.

“Shriend. Is shrined,” Wail continues. The excitement fades a bit and I wonder if it’s because of the spear holder or because of the other humanoid that melts out of the forest. This one’s clothes are covered in vines that twist up into a hood, cloaking its green face. “Neshualn, we must not offend the welashzhav. Welashrepal, though you vouch for this person, we must bring their case before the Veful.”

“Case. Okay. Shriend will be good soon.”

Not soon enough!

The hooded humanoid looks at the spear holder and I catch a hint of command in its words. “We will take the elmanzhav and e᷾muzhav to the root hold. The Veful will decide what to do.”

The spear holder shifts, clearly disliking the plan, and I wonder if they were planning on skewering me. Still, they step back, the spear retracting several feet and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“To the root hold then.” The humanoid eyes me expectantly and the spear flicks to point behind me, jabbing a bit. I take that to mean I’m supposed to move. I turn carefully on my heels, wary about the weapon at my back and see Wail already wobbling deeper into the roots.

I thought you said we were close Wail! Don’t tell me it was just closer to death!

I start to follow my wobbling rock, tensing as several more humanoids phase out of the tangled roots and vines.

I’m wary of the spear behind me, can feel the blood dripping down my neck, but as I duck under another massive root I can’t stop the question. “How close are we exactly?”

“Close,” says the hooded figure.

Ah… how could I think otherwise?

The jungle grows. Roots rise higher and higher off the ground, thickening with every new tangle. It makes it easier to maneuver Lorraine because I can simply slip under the majority now. Wail is also more mobile, having the opportunity to tuck into a ball and roll through much of the winding path. It becomes easy enough that I’m able to observe our escort as we move.

They’re much closer to humans than many of the other races I’ve seen so far, even more than the mouthless palgeer. There’s clearly a difference in features between the spear holder and hooded guide, and after comparing them to the others we joined I wonder if it’s a differentiation in gender. Some, like the humanoid who almost gutted me, is similar to females from what I can gather from half-hazy memories, but there are other differences as well. The females both have long lavender hair while the others have none at all. I’m sort of guessing on the one with the hood since I can’t tell either way. The ears are also distinct. For the males the pointed helix extends a good inch or two farther than the females. Of course, there’s no way to know that gender is the main defining factor without confirmation. Still, I begin to call them man and woman in my head until a thought makes me pause… Isn’t man a shortened version of human? Does that even work?

I swim around in my brain a bit, looking for that answer when our environment sharply changes.

The trees are further and further apart as the forest rises in height, but with the roots taking up most of the space between them, the space felt overrun. But as we emerge from beneath yet another curling arc we step into open space. There are still trees, but the roots which had dominated the space are embedded into the moss. Small beams of sunlight pierce the canopy overhead, highlighting the mossy earth in rays of light. Up above, near the lowest hanging branches, which aren’t really low at all, hundreds of flowers cover the lavender trunks. Fluttering around them are sparkling particles that give the space a magical shimmer. This is all enough to stop me in my tracks, but what keeps me frozen are the little domes huddled around the base of the massive trees.

Is this… a village?

Our escorts keep walking and I’m jerked out of my stupor when the butt of a spear pokes me in the back. “Move.”

Not wanting to be poked by the sharper end, I hurry after the rest of the group. It becomes clear as we approach that this is most definitely a village. There are at least thirty buildings that I can, mostly huddled in rings around tree trunks with only a few out in the open, extending like points on a star. They’re not typical houses that I can tell. They’re not made of wood like the ones in the city, or of white brick like the tower. But we’re not close enough for me to tell what they’re made of.

“Wait, halt!” The woman behind me barks out the command and I turn to find a deep scowl marring her face. She’s crouched on the ground several feet away and when she stands up I see the extended finger I’m becoming increasingly familiar with. A small, blue grain is perched on the tip.

You must be kidding me.

The spear whips out, startlingly fast, and the point is once again at my neck. “Are you trying to draw in the palgeer?”

“What?! No. No!”

“Then why is this grain in the moss and not in your bag?”

Our gazes both drop to my satchel. What am I supposed to say here? This bag isn’t for holding? How insane would that sound? “It’s… not a great bag…”

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The woman’s eyes flash in anger and I think I’m about to be speared when the hooded man steps in again. “Remember who brought the elmanzhav here. This is not an enemy we should make.”

The woman grimaces, retreating even slower than the previous time her weapon was at my throat. I’m starting how many chances I have before she’ll stab without listening.

“Weshur.”

I jump at the voice, twisting to find one of the escorts right beside me. His eyes are focused on the blue grain. There’s a look in his eyes, and it takes me a second to place it.

“We should take the pulelman, yes? It’s a great boon to our kin.”

Ah… greed.

The hooded man shakes his head. “The Veful will decide.” His eyes sweep the group and his words are once again commanding. “We will continue.”

The humanoids nod and I’m urged forward again, but there’s an edge to them that wasn’t there before. This race of…whatever they are, appears less than harmonious. I look down at the sleeping Lorraine, then to Wail. I need to keep us safe, and I’m not sure if the group's friction will aid or derail that goal.

When we close in on the nearest building I realize it’s made out of… roots? Yes. Roots.

They’re twisted and wound together, shaped into the form of a dome. Where a door might be, there’s rectangular material that seems almost fungi in nature. Scattered across the walls and the roof are sprouting lavender flowers that are a mere fraction in size of those in the canopy.

It’s actually really beautiful and as we wander deeper into the village I’m struck with appreciation for the seamless shapes. I wonder how they made them. Then I wonder where all the residents are.

It’s odd, but I don’t have time to think about it when we finally halt beside one of the massive trees. There’s another fungal door here, but instead of a dome it’s slanted into the mossy mound surrounding the base of the tree. The hooded man steps forward and grabs the material, pulling it up to reveal a pathway leading underground.

“Inform the assembly that we’re coming with news,” the man says. Two of our escorts break off at the order, leaving the hooded man, the spear holder and the one with greedy eyes. Not the safest bunch. “I’ll go down first. Neshualn, take the back to ensure that no one escapes.” His eyes meet mine at that statement and then turns into the underground tunnel.

We walk in single file line and I wonder how far we’re going, only to find that for once our destination is actually close.

We almost immediately arrive in an open underground space. It’s not large, about the size of the children’s room back in the city. Roots are growing in and out of the walls and a dozen openings line the room. In front of each opening is a set of twisted roots, uniform and vertical, effectively closing off the openings. They look like… oh. Cells. Prison cells. Dread pools in my stomach.

Locked up.

There’s something about those words that make me cold. It sits low in my stomach and an image hovers at the edge of my mind, half hazy and covered in red. I brace myself against the memory, certain it’s not one I should visit now, definitely not while being imprisoned.

Instead I focus on the hooded man. He walks to one side where a shelf is carved into the earth and grabs something before returning. When he approaches I realize he’s holding a white bracelet. “For the e᷾muzhav. Frost will harm the forest.”

He slips the bracelet onto Lorraine’s limp wrist and gestures toward the nearest cell. The greedy man pulls a white ribbon from his clothes and wraps it around his wrist. His hand extends towards the roots and for a moment the limbs shiver. The man’s force morphs into an expression of concentration and the shiver builds until the roots retract into the surrounding dirt of the opening. “To ensure you do not try to escape we will take your wadzh.” His hand reaches toward me and I remember what that is when he grabs the stick tied around my waist. He tucks it into his own belt. It doesn’t bother me to lose it considering I don’t know how to make it anything other than a stick. But I notice the greedy man is eyeing the stick with glimmering eyes.

“Enter the root hold.”

I nod at the man’s words and enter the opening. It’s just a hole in the dirt, only the occasional root poking out as decoration.

I turn as I hear the roots filling in behind me. Wail is standing outside with the humanoids. His smile is gone, but he doesn’t exactly look sad either.

“Wai…umm, I mean, is the boulder not coming in with us?”

The hooded man’s head shakes. “Welashrepal will speak on your behalf. He is a friend to our kin.”

With that the humanoids depart, Wail trailing behind.

I stay by the root door for a couple of minutes, studying what I can see, but in truth, there’s not much to the space. Besides several shelf areas carved into the dirt, the room is otherwise empty.

I try to identify what’s on the shelves, but other than a couple of items that look like containers I don’t make out anything of interest.

The root doorway is my next area of interest. I wonder if I’d be able to dig around them or if there are roots buried in the walls as well, acting as a sealed cage. It’s something to check if things go south. Or…

Could I move the roots, like the man did?

I try to remember if I’ve seen something like that. Nothing comes up in my accessible memories, and a quick investigation shows that the doors in my mind are just as solid as they were before. I give them a few imaginative kicks, but nothing gives. I’m glad to find the red, hazy image has faded with it.

I walk to the nearest wall, dropping to the ground with a sigh. “Well, it looks like it’s just you and me, Lorraine.” I look down at my charge. The lavender roots give off a soft glow, illuminating her icy form. “I hope Wail’s good at negotiating.”

I realize that the chill surrounding Lorraine is weaker than before. I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m cooler after the recovery sap, or if she’s actually the one that’s warmer. I lay her down on the ground and my eyes sweep across her body. I try to catalog each glowing pulse, the rise and fall of her chest, the cloud releasing from her lips. She doesn’t look…well.

Does she need more sand? Nile seemed to think that there could be too much, but she’d then asked me to use more when we were fleeing. Should I use it now?

The child’s initial reaction to the sand gives me pause, but the fact that we’re now imprisoned brings the issue into new light. I can’t keep carrying her. If a chance for escape comes up, having Lorraine on her own two feet can mean the difference between success and failure. So then… sand?

Hmm...

There’s no memory for this one. No guiding knowledge to lead me toward the right choice. I have to weigh the risks.

Eventually, it’s the girl who decides for me. There’s a hiccup in her breathing that startles me out of my reverie. It pauses, just a bit too long, reminding me of her curled up in the little room… dying. The breath stutters and then pauses again, and suddenly I’m frantically digging into my pockets, trying to pinch out a single grain. It’s difficult, and only the knowledge that loose sand somehow drew in the mouthless keeps me from turning out my pockets. Finally, a single grain is pinched between my fingers and I tug at Lorraine’s bottom lip, flicking the sand into her open mouth. The grain disappears into her mouth and I scooch back, expecting wild spasms. But…nothing happens. Not even a faint glow.

Huh.

Should I have used more sand? Maybe dropped in a coup—

An explosion blasts me back into the wall. My head cracks against the dirt and pain floods my brain. I slump against the dirt, eyes blurring. Dirt clogs the air and I hack a cough, spitting out the dust in my mouth. I try to move, and after a second I manage it, crawling through the haze toward the spot Lorraine was in. I immediately hit a wall and I feel disoriented until a glow catches my eyes. It’s bright enough that the blue easily pierces the dust.

She’s closer than I realized, and when my hand reaches out to touch it’s met with ice. Real ice.

What is this?

I feel around, trying to determine where the child is when the ice crumbles away and a small hand grabs my own. It’s cold.