The stairs appeared for Dirt to climb up as fast as he could go, but the ones disappearing behind him kept a slower, regular rhythm. Which was good, because after going up about 50 of them he was panting and ready to quit. Stairs, it turned out, were a lot of work.

He kept going, though, glancing upward in desperation, hoping they didn’t think he needed to go the whole way. He tried not to glance downward at all, lest it make him dizzy from vertigo and fall. He was already higher up than he remembered Socks jumping.

Did the dryads even know a fall from this height would kill him? Even if he landed in the dirt, it’d break every bone in his body. And he wouldn’t land in the dirt. He’d hit a root and his skull would crack open like an egg. The bright yellow yolk inside would spill out everywhere and the dryads would stand around blankly wondering what had gone wrong.

For a while, he could relax a bit and just go at the same pace as the stairs were disappearing. Even and steady. His thighs were the worst, already burning with exertion more than the rest of him. He hoped they felt better instead of worse as he went, or this might be a short climb.

A hundred stairs. Another hundred. No change, no rest. Just stairs. This will be for your benefit, they’d said. Give it all your effort. Dirt supposed they truly meant all his effort.

Another hundred and his legs were losing their strength. Once, he stumbled, which set his heart racing because Dirt knew he was about to fall, right until he caught his balance and kept going.

But his screaming legs were getting less obedient, and after only ten more steps Dirt kicked the front of a stair and stumbled again. He grabbed on with both hands while he tried to get his feet back in place. Something was off about this one and after taking a closer look, he saw that it wasn’t regular. Nor were any of the next ten. They were all different, some higher, or a longer gap, or a narrower surface.

Now that was just mean! Couldn’t they see how hard it was already, and now they made it harder? Did they want him to fall? Running took three times as much effort now, since he had to take each step deliberately. No rhythm to rely on.

Another fifty stairs. Fifty more. The disappearing steps were catching up to him now. Four steps ahead. Three.

“Home, stop!” he shouted. Yelling stole too much air from his lungs and they burned even more. His legs were about to stop obeying him. He could feel it. There was nothing left in them. Two steps. One.

“Stop!” he shouted again, slapping the smooth bark of her trunk as hard as he could.

The step slid out from under him. At the last second he kicked off its four remaining inches to jump one step further. That one almost tumbled him sideways as it withdrew, but he kept going.

Did the dryads really not know about falling? How would they have learned? Did they truly not know just how dangerous this was? Why couldn’t they just let him run on the ground?

He was almost out of energy and in serious trouble.The world closed in around his vision, leaving him only a little window to see through. His heart beat so fast he could feel it in his face. Nothing was a color anymore, just shapes.

His feet got heavier still. Each step up was a monumental effort. They were as heavy as if statues were tied to them, his lungs burning so much he thought he might faint. His mind melted, over-focused and overused as the rest of him. But still he kept going.

Twenty more steps. Forty. He crawled forward with his arms as much as his legs, pulling himself up and forward. His shins hurt and felt like they might be bleeding, but he didn’t remember doing it and couldn’t stop to look.

Dirt knew he’d never make it, but he had to go until Home caught on and saved him. Surely she was watching! Surely she’d know he was about to die, about to collapse and fall so far, far down, and smash on her roots. Just a little more, and she’d notice. One more step. One more.

I WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOU, he imagined Mother saying. The thought infuriated him. He’d fall, and she’d just tell Socks she was right all along and he’d be better off without Dirt. Well, he would not let her be right about this. She might know everything else, but not this.

Anger gave him another burst of energy, or perhaps it was just passion, but he drove himself harder. He crawled up the stairs with snarls and hisses in time with his breathing. Twenty more. Twenty more. Ten. Five. Two.

That burst of energy faded, though, and left him feeling more empty than before. His arms and legs were barely moving no matter how hard he tried to move them.

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His hand slipped and he fell against a stair, bruising his ribs and knocking the breath from his lungs. He scrambled to get back up, but his balance wavered and he slipped again. With the last little smidge of strength he had left, he pushed himself up and crawled up one more step.

It slid out from under him. He reached for the next but missed. He felt himself begin to drop and knew that was it. He’d die knowing he hadn’t given up, at least. Worthy of a wolf. His eyes closed, unable to keep open anymore, as the air parted to let him slip downward.

CATCH HIM. HE IS READY.

A dozen hands grabbed him tightly and pulled him into the tree. Before he realized what was happening, he was swallowed by blackness and enveloped by wood that pressed on every part of him like he was under water.

The tree’s night-hum pounded through him. Energy roared past him. Home was full of mana, torrents of it.

But it didn’t matter because he couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth and tried to scream and couldn’t. He tried to suck in air even though there was none to be had, and couldn’t. Panic awoke one last bit of spark he didn’t know he had, giving a final moment of clarity before the end.

“Let me out!” he screamed to Home’s mind.

His lungs burned. His need for air was agony.

TAKE IN MANA, AS DID MY SON. YOU HAVE SEEN HIM DO IT.

Mother? He had no time to think. He’d taken in mana as Socks during a mind meld, but never on his own. Still, he sucked in as hard as he could and tried to grab onto that elusive power with senses he didn’t have. Fill me up, fill me up, fill me up!

Even though an ocean of mana suffused the wood he swam in, it didn’t work. He couldn’t draw it in. He watched his thoughts slipping into unconsciousness. He never let up, trying until the last.

His body went limp. His mind drifted into nothingness. Then—only then—did he relax whatever part of him needed to relax. Dirt’s desire for mana drew it into him in floods, filling him with sparks that erupted into flame and lightning, suffusing every inch of him with light.

Dirt gasped as a small cavity opened around his head. He drank the air greedily, panting harder than Socks after a long run in sunlight. Mana filled him now, fuller than he’d ever been. His mind sharpened and re-awakened now that he could finally catch his breath and relax, and in that clarity he realized what they’d done.

The trees had given him magic. He needed to be completely empty, empty all the way, almost dead. That was the key, the thing Socks couldn’t teach him. The part of him that took in mana had needed to unclench and breathe and the only way was to get like this, to get to the edge of death, drained of his last spark.

If there was ever another way, he didn’t care, because now that it was his—truly his this time and not a gift from Socks—mana felt like joy. There was no room left for anger. He didn’t turn the mana into strength, or do anything else with it at all. It was enough for him to feel it there, shining inside him.

The tree pushed him out and he collapsed into the waiting arms of Home and others, Callius and Dawn and several more catching him with soft and gentle hands. They wrapped their arms around him, holding him safe.

Dirt was back at ground level now, close to his house. They carried him inside and lay him down on a pile of soft fibers that were now in the middle of the room, much like his bed was made out of. Home held him in her arms, letting him sit up and lean back against her bosom to rest.

Callius raised cupped hands to Dirt’s mouth and poured in a little water for him to drink. Dirt gulped it down, feeling how it chilled and soothed him all the way down. He kept drinking, and it quickly became apparent that Callius wasn’t holding the water—he was producing it from his palms somehow.

The boy stood up and looked down at Dirt with good-natured pity. Outside his home, a hundred more dryads crowded the door and windows, all peering in with anxious expressions.

“Are you angry with us, friend Dirt?” asked Home.

“I’m too worn out to be mad about anything,” he said. “And I can gather mana all on my own now, and right now, I don’t care at all what I had to do to get it. Was it hard to watch? To do all that to me?”

Home said, “We are learning the meaning of pain by watching you. We are beginning to understand, slowly. The pain we witness and understand, we also feel.” Her fingertips traced along his forehead and cheeks, leaving behind trails of sensation on his skin. She really did care about him, he was learning. He didn’t even have to look at her mind to know.

“Then I guess we’re friends for real, now, huh?” said Dirt, growing contemplative. “Oh, did I hear Mother’s voice, right at the end of that?”

“Yes, that was her,” said Dawn. “I speak with her more often than the others do. There are two ways you could have learned. Only one was fast. The others are all slow. She said she preferred the slow, since that would have let Socks outgrow you and move on.”

“What were the slow ways?” he asked.

“It is how humans usually learn, but I did not ask because I knew which you would pick,” she said.

Dirt grinned, tired. The mana was slowly draining out of him, returning to the world it came from. That was fine. He could feel the part of his mana body that could draw in more, and it would obey him. “I know it’s still early, but I think I’m ready for a little nap, if that’s okay. Or should I use this mana to wake back up and get going?”

“No, you are in an early stage of physical development. Rest will be better for you. Sleep now. No harm will come to you here. And when you wake, you will eat, and then we shall play,” said Callius, sitting down next to the pile of fibers. He sat cross-legged and leaned back, relaxed but attentive.

Home slid away, just far enough that Dirt could lay down fully and rest his head on her tiny-leaf-covered legs. She gently massaged his scalp, and he closed his eyes in contentment. She said, “And tomorrow, you will begin to learn to use the mana you now can gather. One step at a time, isn’t that right?”

He smiled. “Just not so many at once.”

“Not so many at once.”

Before he fell asleep for the nap, however, he collected his mental strength for one last thing. Even though Socks’ mind was much too far away for him to see, he pictured it, trying to assemble it as vividly as possible from his memory. “HEY SOCKS! I CAN TAKE IN MANA NOW!”

There was no reply.