“No!” Penelope cried. Sister Rosin dashed forward, dagger drawn. She sawed at the brambles, though more came flying at them, threading the air to form a living cage, pulsing with menace.

The forest grew darker, the air cold and thick. The scents of ice and bitter fruits gathered on the stirring breeze, stinging the back of Penelope’s tongue.

Time seemed to slow as Steph fell to his knees with a grunt. Penelope rushed forward, kneeling on numb legs as her fingers fumbled against the vine crushing Steph’s throat.

Together, she and Marmalade unwound the barbed tendril. Steph’s throat was bruised and raw, pocked with needlepoint lacerations as he gasped for air.

Sister Rosin kept up her slashing assault of the brambles around them, stopping only when vines curled around her wrists and ankles, divesting her of her dagger as she was bound and struggling in place.

Penelope could feel the fury of the forest howling in her bones, gnashing and snapping like a wild beast unbridled. Boughs creaked and stones rattled beyond their caged clearing, a violent percussion demanding return, recompense, blood for blood, life for life.

Steph fell sideways into Penelope’s arms as he began to convulse, foaming at the mouth.

“Poison,” Marmalade cried, as she upended the contents of her pouch to the forest floor. She tipped phial after phial of potion into his mouth, which did little more than spill from the corners of his lips.

Marmot curled up inside Marmalade’s emptied bag with a whimper. Sister Rosin struggled against her bonds until Marmalade snapped at her to remain still, lest she tear her own skin on poisoned barbs.

Penelope held Steph tighter, whispering soothing nonsense through her own panic as Marmalade spent her potions, resorting to mashing various berries into paste and smearing it over Steph’s paling lips.

Penelope felt as though a thousand hidden teeth were bared in the shadows, the gaping maw of the forest’s bleeding heart waiting to swallow down the sacrifice it demanded, however insufficient.

The rage built in vehement discord, a spiralling current of hatred and horror that hissed through the canopy, even as Steph’s breath hissed past his grimace in pained and shallow puffs.

Penelope clung to Steph in the eye of the burgeoning storm and felt it all. She sensed the inevitability. Felt as the final leash of the forest’s restraint snapped, the malevolence poised to strike and claim death. She glimpsed Steph, then, as if through the eyes of the forest.

Intruder, threat, thief. Enemy.

It warred against Penelope’s own thoughts.

Gentle, kind, trusted. Friend. More.

Penelope keened as she pushed back, pouring her own feelings into the veins of the Darkwood’s anguish.

Steph twitched and gulped, unconscious now and losing strength. Penelope smoothed sweat-dampened curls from his face, her heart breaking as his eyelids fluttered with fitful distress.

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A will as strong and hardened as the gravelled earth erupted within her then, forcing words beyond the cavern of her mouth and into the maelstrom surrounding their cage of vines.

“ENOUGH!” Penelope cried, the words tearing from her throat like shredded bark and whistling storms, like timeless shadows and bottomless pools, like prey and prowler, hackles raised and yowling. Marmalade froze and stared at Penelope, who stared past her at the knotted brambles, teeth bared and snarling.

“I HEAR YOU. I WITNESS. I HOWL WITH YOUR HEART. But he is not your enemy, he is my FRIEND, AND YOU WILL HEAL HIM. NOW!” Penelope’s voice carried on the briny winds rattling through the hollows of trees, the sound echoing through earth and roots and chastened night.

Penelope squeezed her eyes shut and begged, commanded, ached for the forest to heed her.

Medicine, medicine, please, PLEASE, give him medicine...

“Please…” she whispered, a cracked and choking plea that fell like ashes to the grieving earth.

Penelope felt the forest’s wrath soften and yield, succumbing instead to stony despair. Its will relented to hers.

Marmalade gasped and Penelope opened her eyes in time to watch as a golden wren swooped down, dropping a seed to a small patch of earth where Steph’s blood had spilled.

The seed sprouted to sapling, unfurling upwards and outwards into a spiny black stalk bursting with fiery pink leaves and golden berries.

Marmalade wasted no time, plucking berries from the still-growing spine of the plant. She mashed them in her fingers and smeared the paste across Steph’s mouth, into his gums, and under his tongue as Penelope cradled his head.

Several moments passed, cutting through the quiet like shards of glass, as the forest stilled and Steph did not breathe.

Sister Rosin shook free of the slackened vines, crouching by Steph’s side. “Come on, kid, come on...”

Penelope clung, willing Steph to life with the hard press of her fingers into his sides.

With a heaving gasp, Steph finally drew breath, flailing against Penelope’s hold. Penelope choked back her own sobs of relief as she helped him sit upright, braced by Sister Rosin’s brawny arms.

Steph coughed and wheezed, though colour returned to his waxen skin. He turned his gaze, clear and lucid, onto Penelope, then Marmalade. “What... What happened?” Steph rasped as his breath evened out.

“The forest poisoned you,” Marmalade responded, smearing more golden paste against the wounds at his throat, leaning in to peer curiously as they healed over, nary a scratch to be seen.

“Rude,” Steph muttered, his attempt at levity undermined as he coughed some more.

“Are you alright? Will he be alright?” Penelope’s gaze flickered between Steph’s dark eyes and Marmalade’s sky-blue stare. She nodded and Penelope laughed in relief, a bubbling and broken sound that was closer to weeping.

“Against all odds, yes, little honeybelle, you’ll be alright.” Marmalade smiled and brushed a gentle thumb against Steph’s cheek, before patting his knee and rising to her feet.

“Sister Rosin, are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m alright, duckling. No scratches or poison. A little stiff is all.” She flexed her wrists in circles to prove her point, smiling as she reached to retrieve her blade. Though her gaze was curious and lingering as she looked at Penelope.

Steph’s tread was frail and coltish as they helped him stand, eager to remove themselves from the forest’s reach as soon as they could.

Sister Rosin supported Steph against her stout frame, his arm flung around her neck as she wrapped an arm around his waist.

While he steadied himself, Marmalade quickly gathered more of the golden berries and vibrant, furling leaves of the black-spined plant with a bowed head and whispered chant.

Marmot remained huddled in Marmalade's pouch, which she eased over her shoulder as she stood, the rounded nubs of his ears visible and quivering.

The vines swayed and trees rustled, but with weary despondence instead of wrath. Everyone tensed, and Sister Rosin made to protest, as Penelope laid a hand on a nearby tree.

Thank you. She pushed her gratitude fervently into the wood, and the wild mind beyond it. Thank you. I will not forget what I witnessed.

With that promise imparted, Penelope turned to lead them from the false night of the dark woods and into the afternoon light beyond.