Croi lets her hearing expand, and instead of hearing the chittering of insects, she hears whispered conversations, laughter, screams, and cries. This forest is alive in a way the Wilde Forest wasn’t. Here, the magick’s song is subdued, but the forest is abuzz with a cacophony full of notes she itches to understand. The gringits are missing here. Instead, small lean figures, green-skinned with two curling twiglike horns on their heads, fling themselves from one tree to another. The Hag taught Croi about these creatures: they’re treepers, rulers of the treetops in Talamh. They are notoriously reticent and keep to themselves unless provoked. Croi will, of course, restrain herself from provoking them.

She takes a breath and exhales fully for the first time in what feels like hours. The pixie meadow was beautiful, but the sky outside is too wide. It made her feel vulnerable in a way she doesn’t like. Forests are where she belongs, where she feels the most like herself, whoever she turns out to be. She takes another breath and loses herself to the sounds of the forest. Croi doesn’t know how long she spends standing there, in the middle of what seems like a well-traveled path, just listening, but suddenly fatigue comes crashing down on her shoulders and pulls her legs out from under her. She crumples to the ground, so weary that even her hair hurts.

She knows better than to rest here, where she’ll make a nice snack for any predator looking for a meal. So she gets up and staggers away from the path and farther into the forest. It gets colder the deeper she goes. She hugs her pack close, hoping the SoulSeed will give her some of its fading warmth.

All of a sudden, Croi smells smoke. She follows her nose for a few minutes and is rewarded when she reaches a small clearing. In the middle is a fire burning merrily in a pit.

Go closer.

Her other self is a little bit too impatient. Even though there’s no one else in the clearing, a cat is napping in front of the fire. It doesn’t look like a wild Meow. Maybe its owner is somewhere around. Croi waits for a while, but no one appears, so she walks closer to the fire, ready to bolt, just in case. She should be more worried about whoever lit the fire, but she’s so tired that she doesn’t mind playing with danger for a few moments of peace. She makes it all the way to the fire and sinks down gratefully in front of the undulating flames.

Move closer. So bossy. Croi grumbles but obeys.

She scoots as close to the heat as she can without actually sitting in the pit. The Hag took great pains to ensure Croi didn’t ever come in contact with fire. She cooked all Croi’s food and even made her give her word that she wouldn’t play with fire in the human city. It didn’t occur to Croi then to wonder why, but she does now.