Will someone come looking for me? he wondered. Father? Mother? But he knew they wouldn’t, for even as their social life had become ever more crowded, so too had the time they set aside for him grown ever briefer. Not to mention their unwillingness to take a single step, much less an hour-long trek in the dark of night, into Lostwood.

Once more, his eyes caught that alluring glow, even more brilliant now that the sun had retreated from the sky battlefield and its army of stars. The liquid had stopped oozing, and now clung to the side of the large root from which it had been freed. Emanating golden light.

“You can do this,” he growled, ignoring his legs as they ignored him, focusing instead on the parts of him above the waist, clenching his stomach muscles so he could twist himself into a U-shape and stretch his arms toward their breaking point.

The pain returned, as bright and hot as a flame pressed to one’s skin, but Faryon decided not to give it the satisfaction, continuing to reach, inch by inch, muscles quivering, bones aching, knuckles cracking as his fingers fought for those last few hairsbreadths required…

He gasped as he did it, slumping back, relishing the warmth now spreading across his fingertips. He lifted his hand to inspect them, eyes widening at the beauty that now coated his skin. This close, he saw more than just the telltale golden glow, but what was captured within its spill, those tiny, faceted granules, suspended and floating.

He didn’t wait a moment longer, sucking the golden liquid from his fingers, licking them clean, the sweetness lingering on his tongue even as he swallowed repeatedly. He sank back until his head pressed against a pillow of leaves, a deep, sonorous sigh emerging from the hollows of his chest.

The warmth was spreading; he could feel it. He still couldn’t feel his legs, however, but the pain in his chest and arms was receding, measure by measure, until it was almost bearable. The warmth vanished, like a flame snuffed out between the pinch of fingers.

I need more, he thought, but was too exhausted to move. So he waited, just breathing, listening to the beat of his own heart.

When he felt strong enough again, he repeated himself, lapping more of the liquid from his fingers. The feeling that he was being healed wasn’t just in his head—this he knew with the same unassailable conviction that he’d had in his heart ever since the River of Life became the object of his dreams and desires. I am being healed, I know it. In fact, the pain was gone from his upper body. More than that, he felt strong again. Even stronger than before, if that was possible.

The only problem: he still couldn’t feel his legs, and he’d already wiped all of the golden liquid from the face of the root. He squinted, swearing he could detect more of the golden glow inside the crevice. If only he could get to it…