Krosa staggered as she fled the battle. She had been running for what felt like miles, the stones of the mountainside turning under her feet as she tried to make her way towards Provints. Her thoughts had shifted from a frantic muddle of guilt and fear and had now identified a purpose, a mission she could complete to possibly have some impact on the battle that had still raged when she left the clearing. The crashes and roars and screams had faded into the night, and now she stumbled through the forest with only one singular thought driving her forward. I have to get Dyrik, he’ll know what to do. She suspected that the wizard was far more powerful than he generally let on, and felt a deep certainty that if he had been present, the fight would have gone much differently. He had his limits, as evidenced by the fact that the curse still stood unchallenged, but when it came to mass destruction on a battlefield, she was certain he would be in his element.

Finally, she stumbled to a stop, dropping to her knees in the soft forest loam as she panted for breath. Looking around at the dark shape of the trees looming out of the darkness, she tried to get her bearings. Feeling out with her mind and will, she tried to identify where she was, and found nothing that felt familiar. With a sinking sensation, she gradually accepted the indisputable fact that she was lost. Well, might as well settle in for the night, maybe in the daylight I’ll be able to figure out where I am. Her thoughts calmed with her breathing, heart rate descending to its normal, steady pace as she pulled herself under the exposed root of a nearby oak. Extending her will, she pulled roots down around her in a protective cage, causing leaves to sprout until she was completely concealed.

More plant matter grew up and around her until she had enough material to keep her warm as her blood cooled. She fell asleep listening to the sounds of the forest around her, and as her eyes closed and she drifted into oblivion, she heard the faint echo of a distant roar.

***

By the time the light filtering through her protective bower woke her, it was already well into morning. Krosa had lost all concept of time, the attack the night before seemed like it had lasted for hours but she suspected it had been much faster. Her entire body felt sore, and she had several cuts and bruises that she did not remember getting. Listening carefully and hearing nothing, she moved the roots aside and stepped out into the open. With a caution she had lacked in her head-long flight through the forest, she carefully explored the area, trying to figure out where she was. It didn’t take her long to decide that even in the daylight, she was hopelessly lost. Sighing, Krosa reached out and elongated one of the roots she had slept under, shaping it into a rough spear before breaking it loose from the tree. She had lost the one Gost had given her the night before, although thinking back she couldn’t remember when or where. The new one was essentially a pointed stick, but then that was all a spear was anyway so it would serve well enough.

She took another moment to make a brief inventory. She had a belt knife, a small pouch that held a few coins, and in a small pocket on her shirt, she found the small flower that she had plucked from the corpse of the cat beast that had attacked her on the road, what seemed like ages ago. It had not faded or wilted at all, and she had kept it close to meditate on whenever she had a chance. She did so now, taking some comfort from the familiar feel of its petals and stem. One of the unique things about it was her plant sense didn’t work on it the way it did other growing things. It was like the tiny flower had a will of its own, or perhaps one borrowed from somewhere else.

She had asked Dyrik about it, and he had explained that it was possible that another plant mage was the source of the flower, and she would have to either work with that mage’s will or overpower it to take over whatever animated the tiny bloom. He had then advised her to let him burn the thing, out of an abundance of caution and “damn common sense”, but she had kept it anyway. He hadn’t forced the issue, but had made it clear to her that when the flower took root in her nose while she slept and took over her brain, she had no one to blame but herself, and that it would likely be an improvement.

As she held the resilient bloom, she felt a humming sensation through her fingers. Concentrating, she pulled at the sensation until her skin practically vibrated with the intensity. She had felt tingles from the flower before, but never anything this strong before. Frowning, she probed further at the flower but could only manage to increase the intensity of the hum. Following a hunch, she stood and took a few steps, inhaling sharply as the frequency of the hum changed pitch as she walked. With a little experimentation, she found that when she moved in a certain direction, the sensation of the tiny plant encouraging her to proceed that way increased, and decreased when she moved away.

Well, the magical tulip is trying to talk to me. Not the strangest thing that’s happened to me this week. She followed that thought by berating herself for comparing the plant to a tulip. Putting it back in her pocket, she took a moment to consider her situation. She was lost, she had few supplies and just enough woodcraft to know that she was not knowledgeable enough to live off the land with any sense of confidence. There were beasts in the woods, a curse on the land, no friendly fire-wizard to be found, and a decent chance that her friend and mentor that had brought her out here was dead or severely injured.

Dyrik had been suspicious of the flower, but only on general terms. Krosa had never felt even a hint of ill-will from the thing and despite its grisly origins she felt a connection to it that she couldn’t explain. Well, Dyrik wasn’t here and neither was Gost, but in this matter she was going to take the latter’s favorite approach to such things. She was going to follow her gut, and her gut told her to follow the flower. Pulling it out once more, it took only a small amount of focus to get it humming along, and she set out in the direction it pointed her.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

She quickly discovered that not only was the bloom giving her a general direction, it also appeared to be guiding her on the best path through the forest. Trees and undergrowth seemed to melt away as she walked, paths and trails appearing in the wild wood that couldn’t be seen until one placed a foot on them. An impossible tangle became a comfortable trail, and she even found some edible berries growing along her route that she gratefully harvested directly into her mouth as she walked.

The sun was high in the sky when she reached a small clearing and stopped for a rest. The berries and occasional small trickles of water that she had found coming from the mountainside had kept her from suffering overly much from thirst, but the lack of a canteen was a constant concern. So she decided to take the rest as an opportunity to make one. Her choice of clearings was not a coincidence, as she had detected a wild strain of calabash gourd growing there, and it only took a small exertion to create a functional bottle from it. Satisfied with her new equipment she set out again, and soon the flower led her to a small stream of cold, clear water.

Refreshed and slightly more confident, she strode through the trees keeping an eye out for any dangers. She detected nothing though, not even the usual small creatures that could always be detected scurrying around. She had noticed the unsettling quiet, as even the birds had gone silent some time ago. The absence of animal life concerned her almost as much as the appearance of more beasts would have. Krosa felt a twinge of concern that she had made the wrong choice following the flower, which still buzzed earnestly in her hand.

The extended silence lasted well into the evening, as she walked and rested, and walked again. She had only the flower left to guide her, and she had placed all her trust in it. As the sun faded, she began to cast about for a place to spend the night. Her stomach gnawed at her backbone in protest of only having a few berries and some water to sustain her, but she ignored it. Without the sound of her footsteps disturbing the evening air, she was able to finally hear a noise other than her own breathing. Through the trees, the sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches filtered to her ears, and it was clear it was getting closer. Her mind went straight to the previous night, and the sounds of the fiendish horde breaking out of the woods. Though there were no snarls or roars or snapping jaws, her heart quickened as she recognized with dread certainty that she had been found by the beasts.

Gripped tightly in her hand and momentarily forgotten ,the flower began to vibrate insistently, and as it drew her attention she saw it glow slightly in the fading light. Taking that as a sign, she began to run. The flower guided her as she fled, weaving in and around trees and hurdling over fallen logs. The brambles and branches that would normally have impeded such a flight were totally absent, and she once again thanked the strange magic of the bloom for its assistance.

Behind her, the sounds of pursuit grew closer. She had always been a decent runner, and her training the past weeks had seen her grow faster and more sure of foot than most in the village, but she was no match for the four-legged beast of the wild that now chased her. A chill ran up her spine as a howl reverberated from behind her, joined by others, to the left, the right, seeming to come from everywhere at once. The howls were distorted, gargling and spitting out of misshapen throats, but she still recognized them. Wolves.

There had been a large pack of them the night before, and she had seen many fall to the blades of the hunters, but clearly enough had survived to coordinate hunting her. She wondered where they had been all this time, and felt a prick of fear at the thought of how they might have been occupying themselves. As she ran, she kept an eye out for a spot to make a defensive stand. There was no way she was going to outrun them, and the flower had been leading her all day with no refuge in sight. She couldn’t trust that it was guiding her to a place of safety that was reachable before the wolves caught her.

She spotted a suitable oak tree ahead of her, clinging to the hillside. Gnarled roots overhanging the old game trail that she ran on. Sprinting towards it, she extended her will and tried to connect to the tree. The flower burned in her hand and she felt an energy flow between her and the tree, revitalizing her exhausted mind like a strong dose of Dyrik’s special coffee. Roots opened and wove together, creating a protective cage that she threw herself into, closing them behind her.

Not a minute too soon had she made her fortress, because a massive gray wolf bolted at her only seconds after she locked the final root in place. It snapped toothy jaws at her, drool and blood scattering on her as she huddled against the base of the tree. Soon more joined it, until there were easily a dozen large mountain wolves milling about her, all twisted monstrosities of what they once were but still clearly maintaining their canine intelligence.

Occasionally, one would get close enough that she could thrust her spear at it, and she even managed to inflict light wounds on a couple of them, but it seemed unlikely that that was going to be an effective strategy for defeating the pack. As she considered her options, thoughts growing hazy as whatever boost she had gained from the flower wore off, the wolves began to howl. The sound was chilling, the normal howl of a wolf pack on the hunt but distorted by the mutated jaws and throats into a cacophony of loneliness and death. What made it worse, was that Krosa was certain that the howling was not without a purpose. It felt like they were summoning something, and she had no doubt that whatever they were calling it would be something capable of breaking her out of her protective shell.

Sweating, she began to reinforce the roots, pulling more material from the tree to do so, adding spikes, and trying to dig into the hillside behind her. She had just pulled a large rock into the formation and braced it with a sturdy root when the howling stopped. The wolves stood frozen, ears alert, hair standing on end. They had turned away from her and were now facing into the woods in the direction the flower had been leading her. Low growls rumbled from the pack, and the largest of them threw its head back and howled, different from the summation call from earlier this howl was a challenge.

The challenge was answered, by an earth shaking roar.