How heavy your arms are, after they swing back and forth and forth and back while they keep time with the feet. Back and forth, heavy and swing. The ache of thighs turn numb. Lungs, numb. Breaths perpetually shallow but rhythmic. Feet feel every bump, groove, twist, and ridge.

It feels good, odd to say, to find a rhythm of running though my body should fail at it. Should fail. But wind against my face, leaves rustle with the draft, and an endless track ahead of me. It binds me again. The feeling from earlier with Levon, from the Leaver chant.

A silent flight a few trees away, high above me. Another owl. Brown and black and curiously glancing at me, keeping pace until it turns between trees and disappears within the camouflage.

Rock, a large rock comes into sight in the middle of the seam. It’s so large, like a mountain jutting from nothing. A faded yellow door perfectly framed into the rock. The bird screeches just as I glance down at the seam, a gaping hole one step ahead. It’s blacker than black. Whispers and quieted screams come through. A hand, snow white. Pink finger nails, it grasps a tree root.

But with another screech, boom, I leap it. Barely. Stumble, stumble, and fall to my knees, tumble, tumble, and bam. The door shudders as it stops my momentum.

The hand is frozen on the root it grasps. Unmoving. Still. The door, after I blink changes into a more vibrant shade of pink. Green grape vines twist and turn, decorating the rock. Pink flowers bloom, ebb and flow. Hand on the door, it’s warm and inviting. The hand though, it’s moved farther out of the hole, the sweet Siren soothingly calling me to her.

But with a puff of smoke from inside the hole, Siegrist rises from it, walking on air. And then on the seams. And then his lips curl into a lipless smile.

“Seam, Lyla. You are on it. We train.” With a smirk, he snaps his fingers. Siren’s song is louder, more beautiful than ever before. Tears edge it’s ways to my eyes at the longing exquisiteness of her voice. “Magic. Show me magic.” He pulls a dead vine from his pocket. “Tula Lyla, Siegrist must see your magic. You understand?”

“I don’t have magic.”

He pouts his lips. “Tessa told Siegrist your Protector here. So magic, now or Protector will die.”

The wood against my back is soothing.. A bed, a quilt. With the sun warming my bedroom. Shining onto my fishbowl words thrown around. It’s home, a home of sorts. Safe.

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Siegrist slaps the vine against the ground and it comes to life. Another snake. It slithers around my ankles and weaves between my legs, circling them until it wraps around my hips, waist, ribs, chest.

“You see, devil said Lyla was it. The Original Leaver Siegrist much capture. Siegrist must stick her to seam.” He snaps his fingers and the end of the vine snake anchors to a root. “Do magic.”

“I,” breath, “don’t,” breath, “have-”

Tighter. The vines are squeezing the breath from me. I’m going to die here.

“Come on, show your magic.” The vine tightens harder than the fabric. My breath is shallow and my hands and feet are going numb. “Come one,” he says, “Siegrist handing it to you. Magic, do it.”

Tighter.

“You use magic and seam will open more,” he says. He paces in front of me counting on his fingers. “Translucent hair, dissolve in tree bark, Lyla on seam, Protector come, use magic together, seam open all way. All earth. Voila. Evil come.”

My vision darkens. Tighter vine. Lips cold.

“Want to know what is funny? I have kill every single Leaver and know what? They think it is training. Leaver needs no train.” He tosses his head back and stares at the canopies. “It is not. Devil send me to find magic. Your magic. Protector’s magic.” I’m pretty sure he air quotes the first word but I can’t tell.

“Why…” but the vine squeezes my last breath out.

“Why?” he flails his arms. “Why? What? You? Let me tell you about you. I do not need you alive, I need you and Protector together. That is last thing I need to open seam.”

Don’t come here Talis. Don’t. Don’t find me. Don’t save me. I can’t breathe anymore. I’ll be dying soon, so soon but don’t come here. It’s a trap.

“As long as he comes-” Siegrist moves in slow motion and his words slow down so much, they rumble through the forest and vibrate my feet.

Two voices ebb and flow, I swear, right from below my feet. “Little cinnamon bun,” mom says. “Take another breath,” dad adds.

But Siegrist, his words are vibrations. Low. Deep. His blink slows, his pupils dilate.

Then Talis comes into view between the darkened edges of my eyes. He stands behind Siegrist, his hands in front of him, fingers spread wide. The bear fur flows behind him though there is no breeze this deep in the forest. Talis extends his arms to the side until Siegrist’s face contorts and shrivels and he collapses slowly to the ground.

All in slow motion. Even the crinkle of Siegrist skin. The ashen color. The bits of hair falling from his withered scalp.

My eyes flutter as I try to breathe but I can’t.

Talis towers over Siegrist’s body and he opens his fist. A white shroud lifts out of his hand and drifts over Siegrist’s body.

Talis kneels, taking the Messenger Pouch from Siegrist’s side. And then he turns to me. With every step he takes, his hand rises higher and higher, furs drifting behind him. Sand. Sand flows around him, around his feet, creating the gust of wind which surrounds him. I can see it now as he comes so close to me. And then, he pulls his arm down fast and the vines around me fall to the ground.

They’re brown, brittle and dead. Totally dead. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close to his chest. I take a haggard breath in and then all goes black. My sight, my hearing, my feeling, except for the heat of Talis’ arms wrapped tight around me.

Natura non constristatur

Nature is not saddened