“I’ll do what I can.” Arcas had hoped just to take a walk, to enjoy the scenery and drink in the details, which he would then repeat to the treelings for dissemination through the worldforest. The sentient trees were not accustomed to desert landscapes, and he would at last feel that he had served a useful role as a green priest. Nevertheless, he gathered imagers and data-collection devices from the camp supply shed and placed them in a pack.

Margaret took one of their short-range vehicles, accompanied by DD, and headed off to the cliff city. Standing in the empty camp, Arcas took a glance at the twenty thin treelings planted in rows behind his tent. They now stood chest-high, waving as if basking in the sunlight. “So you like the desert too?” he said. If he touched the treelings, they would answer him.

With no specific destination, Arcas drew a deep breath, tasted the dry and dusty air. Trudging into the wrinkled landscape, he headed toward a gorge that had been cut by ancient waters. Unfiltered sunlight tingled his green skin.

Arcas had never really wanted to be a green priest, yet once a person bonded with the worldforest, the symbiosis could not be reversed. He could leave the trees, never engage telink again, but he would always remain green-skinned and part of the network.

His mother had died while he was young, and Arcas had always had a very close relationship with his father. The older man, Bioth, had longed to become a green priest, but had been caught in a different career. Bioth would sit with him under the canopy, looking up at the whispering fronds and talking about his dreams, about how much he wanted his son to serve the worldforest.

Arcas had never been enthusiastic at the prospect. “Father, we all serve the worldforest, no matter what we do.” He had been more interested in history and geology, but Bioth already had his mind made up and never noticed his son’s reluctance.

When Arcas was fifteen, Bioth had fallen out of a high tree while harvesting epiphyte juices. The older man had landed in a tangle of vines that acted like a net. Unfortunately, when the vines broke his fall, they also snapped his neck. Young Arcas had rushed to his father’s side as the workers lowered him to the ground. With his last choked words, Bioth begged his son to make him proud, to become a green priest. With everyone listening, Arcas could not deny his father’s final wish. Once the tragic story became known among the Therons, Arcas was easily admitted into the priesthood.