Columns, arches, walls and doorways, displaying every shade of a setting sun, were scattered amongst the foliage of Silva’s flora. The structures were formed from petrified wood, twisted and shaped into natural curves, rounded corners and supporting beams that originally formed a magnificent building.

Manifested from the soil like the surrounding plant life, the inhabited tree cathedral would have harmonised gracefully with the forest scenery, only the contrasting colours disrupting the illusion.

Over time Silva had sensed the dying megaflora and sought to reclaim it, vines and climbers were blanketing the skeletal remains as if the tendrils and fingers of Mother were pulling the last remnants back into the soil from whence it came.

I approach a collapsed pillar, shattered like marble pieces from the day it fell. The sleek material was a sunshine yellow with veins like molten brass branching throughout. The surface was smooth to the touch, I was in wonder at the discovery of this new craft.

The arrogance of man touched me like the rest of my species, we assume we know all, and yet here lies before me a building technique that I couldn’t fathom. Was it truly grown in one piece or created from many and manipulated into forms?

“Do you know how it was made? Or who made it?” I ask Piia as she approaches me.

“Satyrs, from many seasons ago. It is known as ‘Hearthold’ for we believe it was grown while Silva was merely a fledgling.” She says while brimming with pride.

“Amazing, it’s so beautiful. I have never seen anything like it in my world. You said it was grown?” I run my hand down the slick crossing deltas of shimmering veins, feeling no gaps or edges between the materials.

“Yes, using Satyrcraft.”

“Satyrcraft. Do all your people live in such incredible homes?”

Piia’s smile falters. “The technique has been lost to us, we only know Satyrs lived here once due to the text. It mentions my race.”

“Can I see this text?”

Piia answers by moving deeper amongst the structures and beckoning me to follow. We approach a giant archway that galleon ships could have sailed through unimpeded.

The arch stood proud and alone, the very top was lost amongst the leaves and branches of the overhead canopy. Of all the stone and marble infrastructure in the ruin, this archway was growth free.

Not a single vine or clump of moss clung to the Satyrcraft structure. Upon closer inspection the material appeared brighter and had fared the elements of time far better than its fallen comrades.

“Look here Seth.” Piia pointed at markings scratched into the cylindrical arch.

We are but saplings before their Suns

Begging for food, receiving crumbs

Sacred be ones inner light, eternal essence stolen with lies.

Satyr pride began the fight, our undoing our demise.

Death and suffering fueled a world

Of oppressors clad in gold.

The writing was crudely scraped deep in the beautiful marble, cutting the shiny brass veins and soiling the arch like prison graffiti.

“The old Voice said it was a warning about the greed for power, he believed the tribe that built these structures succumbed to their own aspirations.”

“Human history in my world has tons of examples of that exact thing. Civilizations crumble when the leaders abuse their power and lose sight.”

“I am not surprised your kind have succumbed to greed, it’s typical hairless behaviour.” She smirks at me.

“Is that so, well this text didn’t have to mention Satyrs by name to know who wrote it.” I bait her.

“And why is that?”

“The only metaphors you know are about plants and leaves.”

“Oh Mother me, that is not true.” She giggles.

“I bet all your stories start with some lost hero in a forest that loses their way.”

“Shush now, we can not all travel from world to world. Come, we must look for signs.”

“Signs of what?”

“My people, this was our camp for several seasons.” Piia glides effortlessly through the thicket of bushes. I notice for the first time how leaves and branches smoothly slide off her fur with little contact, while every edge, spike and sticky residue catches onto me and slows my progress.

A spiky bramble bush hinders me greatly, I consider unleashing my Searing blade on the incognizant plant life out of pure malice. A serrated hooked spike catches the bark wrap on my wounded arm and tears a flaky segment out.

“Rutting plants, I hate you!” I yell out.

Piia looks back at the alleyway of spikes between us.

“You see now why we camped here.” She shouts out.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Very empathetic people these Satyrs, I grumble to myself. If only I had a large shield or armour. For Mother’s sake. I activate my inventory and finally don the Verox vambraces that have been collecting internal dust since my battle with the raptor.

The plated chitin is camouflaged with swirling browns and greens like the surrounding landscape. A few millimetres thick, the surface felt smooth to the touch with inbuilt braces made from a Verox skin, that held the plates onto my forearms. They look amazing and weigh very little, I need an assistant or notebook to remind me what’s in my inventory space.

Before covering my wounded arm, I inspect the missing bark wrap section and find completely healed skin underneath. Like a plaster, I rip the remaining dry healing salve away and flex my healed muscles.

Moving onto my palm, the bark wrap thickly lathered in the centre, I prise the side up slightly to ensure the burn has healed. Looking pink with fresh skin, I yank the chunk of bark away. The Brotherhood of Disorder symbol, rotated slightly, stares back at me. Permanently branded on my flesh in deep scar tissue.

“My parents aren’t going to be too psyched about this.”

My right hand was stiff from the tissue build up, I will have to constantly stretch and work the scar tissue to break it and recover my hand's flexibility.

I push through the remaining bramble avenue, much easier now with my armour in place, and discover Piia waiting in the remains of a large walled section.

“Did that hurt your petal thin skin?” She chuckles at my scratched hands.

“Sorry, but was that another plant metaphor?”

“Mother please, you envy my culture and my fur.” Her ears twitch in amusement.

“We can’t all be adapted to the wilds of the forest.” I retort while licking my wounds.

“Cane is not of these lands and he fared well.” She points out, I look back as Cane trots through the brambles, his leathery hide far too thick for the little pricks to cause any damage.

“Next time, you are going through first.”

Cane snorts at me and rubs his wide face against my body.

“Any indication they were here recently?” I ask Piia.

She was inspecting an old campfire, wood sodden and washed out. The surrounding bush was short from being cleared, however new growth was shooting through into the prime real estate of space and sunlight.

“The tribe moved on over a week ago. They must have fled after I left to find Yetta.” She concludes with no emotion.

“Bit harsh wouldn’t you say? Your sister gets taken and they abandon the camp without telling you where they are moving to.” It wouldn’t have taken much time to inform Piia of their destination. They didn’t even tell her that the tribe was going to move on.

“I left without telling them my intentions. There was little time to waste. It is standard practice for our people to migrate when hunters are close to the camp.”

I assumed they’d have a large family dynamic and make great sacrifices to save each other. It sounds like the tribe survives by not compromising, even for loved ones. Harsh life to live, however they will be around to tell the stories of those lives.

I can’t judge their practices, especially having experienced some close calls in the few days I have spent in Silva.

“Any idea where they might have headed to?” I ask hoping she has a bearing in mind.

“Deeper into Mother’s realm most likely, hoping for safety.”

“I am surprised the hunters are even venturing this far into Silva, with the Guardian patrol on high alert.”

“Guardians are great champions to us, in respect and comparison. Order has empowered his kind though, the hunters are getting bolder as they grow stronger.”

“They must clash with Daemon’s a lot if they’re empowering. Hopefully both sides tear each other apart and leave us alone in the woods.”

“We can only hope so.” Piia smiles reassuringly and leads the way out of the walled space through a collapsed section.

I follow through, thinking about the fights between the two warring races. They must make contact frequently if either side were to empower, considering they can only collect spirit from the opposing faction.

Our party marches along a low wall of swirling orange wood, the ruined structure was still a work of beauty, even in the last stages of its life.

A child’s cry cuts the peaceful atmosphere.

We stop and search for the source of the noise, all eyes vigilante.

A faint bleating carries on the wind from within the ruins.

“Did you hear that?” I say to my companions as I climb the low wall.

“Sounds like a young Satyr, can you see them?” Piia asks while climbing after me.

Now above the overgrown shrubbery, I can see a tiny blob of blonde amongst the solid orange Satyrcraft and Mother’s endless greenery, it stumbles and falls with a cry.

“Over there, on the other side of Hearthold.” I leap off into a sprint, drawing my Xiphos for a heroic entrance. Cane cries behind the wall, vertically challenged by his belly and stubby legs.

“Find a route around Cane.” I yell as Piia catches up with me.

The thick bushes, ferns and brambles slow me substantially. Piia quickly takes the lead, her adapted hairs streamlining her through the shrubbery.

We enter rows of twisting trunks like columns supporting a large central hall, now open to Silva's sky. We were entering the farside of Hearthold, the crying wails were thick in the air. Piia’s incredible hearing allows her to pinpoint the child through all the rubble and plant matter. She disappears ahead of me through an arch door frame and a heart wrenching shriek follows.

“Piia!” I scream. Xiphos at the ready, I force my legs to run faster. Should I trigger my Searing Blade now? I penetrate the doorframe at full pace with no time to make a decision.

Piia is crouched holding the bundle of fur, she is talking quietly in the child's trembling ears. I sheath my blade, fearing I’ll scare the young one further, and approach slowly.

My stomach sinks at the sight of her filthy frame. Scrawny bones were protruding through lice ridden fur that’s been rubbed raw from rigorous itching. A fresh brand marks her back, the wound weeping with pus and harassed by flies.

“My gosh, you poor -

“AAAAahhhhh!” She screams from the sound of my voice

The youngling reels in Piia’s arms, trying to escape me. My friend tightens her embrace.

“Sssshhhhh Sofia. You are safe with us. Seth is a friend, he will protect you. We will protect you.” She whispers softly.

Sofia slows her frantic squirming and finally gives in, her exhaustion was evident. I keep my distance, hoping my presence won’t cause her to have a panic attack. Sofia must be barely six years old and tinkering on the edge of death.

Why was she left out in the wilderness alone? I look around our immediate area, hoping to find a trace of where she had come from. A large bird, with bat-like ears, was staring down at me from a low hanging branch, its dark beady eyes flicking to the Satyrs.

Was it hoping for an easy meal with this child? I shudder at the image. Sofia’s malnourished state was an obvious indication that she needs food. But we should retreat into the denser parts of the forest first. The tribe abandoned Hearthold for a reason.

“Hey Sofia, I’m Seth and we want to help, I promise on Mother.” I reassure her.

She turns in Piia’s arms at the sound of my voice, a blend of pure grief and rage passes through me as I see her face for the first time. Hollow pockets of red mess were all that remained of her eyes.

“I thought you were one of them.” She sobs.

“One of who?” Piia and I asked simultaneously.

The bird begins a shrieking caw.

“A hunter.”