Wind rushed by my face and stirred my fur cloak as Eli and I rose over the treetop layer and began to fly southeast. I watched them out of the corner of my eye as they slowed their pace to match mine. Their windsleeve was excellent, a thin film of trapped air that added a shimmering blur to the colors of their mane and feathers.

  It was also a clear indicator that they had a much higher [Focus] attribute than I did. If things went badly, I’d be in for a fight.

  As we flew, they sent information across the wild bond, a sort of introduction. It was not so much made of words, but a collection of loosely bundled, wild thoughts. I learned that they were a roamer, one determined to witness the vast expanse of the wilderness until they died. They had a nest, but each season they abandoned it to travel for more than a week and make a new one wherever they landed.

  Eli was a woman, I learned, and she had no qualms about killing any new creature she met, so long as they were not intelligent. In this manner she collected a great deal of essence and skill keys, though her class limit increased as much from exploration as it did from the hunt. She didn’t convey anything about her level, but it was undoubtedly high, judging by her windsleeve.

  I played the part of the brash and violent youngling, sending Eli brief, half-fabricated images of my hunts and conquests as if I thought these to be the core of my identity.

  But when I was done with this exchange, I asked the question I’d been dying to know the answer to. What did you mean, when you said there were others?

  Many others, said Eli, her voice ringing in my mind like a set of chimes with its strangely musical quality. There are those who you may meet soon. There is another serpent much like myself in body, though… unlike me in temperament. There is a clever primate who has digits like your own, but a great coat of white instead of your pale skin. There is a mushroom who speaks in colors. And there are cats—three great cats like the one you fought in your mind’s eye. These three live together, and often show little regard for the rest of us.

  At the last, I felt a pang of regret for Palefang. We were far, far from his territory, and it was plausible than in the dense swamps and forests that surrounded us he would never have travelled far enough to find his kin, but this was a sad fact to me. If he’d found and been socialized by other sapient cats, he might not have instantly tried to kill me when we’d met.

  Eli continued. Once, there was a paintshell among us, but alas, he died. A strange thing to witness, the death of a paintshell. Far more likely to be outlived by one than to ever know one who dies. She looked over at me for the first time as she said this, though I couldn’t gauge the significance of their glance.

  This is fascinating to me, I said. I have so many questions.

  Ask them, Eli said lightly. I am glad to share.

  What will you do when it’s time for you to move on, as you showed me? Did you only meet these others in this season? Your paintshell friend must have died recently, if this were the case.

  All true, Eli said after a pause. I have not decided what I will do; perhaps I will move on and return to visit my companions. Perhaps I will not move on, not this time, though I may move my nest. I have been a part of our small group for the smallest time. I cannot think they would miss me much if I let the wind take me, as I do.

  I am so curious, I said. I can’t think of everything I should ask. Are there thinking creatures such as you everywhere? Are there groups such as the one you describe to be found everywhere?

  Yes and no, Eli said. This group is special, but there are those who see much everywhere—everywhere! The mana grants them their sight.

  Tell me of them, I said, fascinated by Eli’s apparent knowledge of spellcraft. Tell me everything you can.

  Very well! Eli said with some hint of laughter. Though it may take me longer than our journey allows. Have you met a paintshell before, Aziriel?

  No.

  Sad! The tortoises wander the world collecting knowledge in the form of stories. Readily do they shares their treasures.They are beloved by all but the wicked. And there are stone ones, too, though they reside in the deep earth where I do not travel. Even those among them who are congenial are most dangerous to visit. And there are birds—oh, many birds. The mana, we surmise, is more inclined to gift the skyborne ones such as myself the gift of great sight. Sometimes we meet on our wanderings, and speak, and share treasures, but we form no lasting collections, no flocks. It is not our nature.

  As she spoke, I watched her from the corner of my eye, trying to decide if my distrust of her was paranoia. I was glad that our hunters had never run into this creature, and yet at the same time I was conscious that our hunters had never run into any sapient creature. We’d furnished ourselves with a great many [Mind], [Wild], and [Sight] keys. Surely if the world was as populated with wandering sapient beings as Eli suggested, our newly-gained psychic coverage would have found someone, anyone.

  Unless she was trying to fill me with hope. If she’d believed what I’d told her, she might surmise that my instincts led me to feel a great void that companionship with others of my kind should have filled.

  There is a king in the west, she said. Though I confess I know little of him; I do not go there, for I do not wish to fall under his dominion. Dark things are said of the great western territory.

  There are mountains to the west, I said. I’ve never been past them.

  The king’s territory is farther than those, said Eli. Much farther. You will not stumble into it with a week of flight, oh no. And I daresay the entities there would be like me, like my companions. We have never seen your kind before, Aziriel. You left your pack, and yet I have never seen a pack of creatures such as yours.

  Nor have I, I said. Not in all my time away froms. Perhaps my pack was the only one.

  Perhaps, said Eli. And yet it would be a shame. For if there were many of you, more might have risen to greater sight, as you have. You could find them out in the world. They paused, then added: still, if there is only your pack, there is hope yet.

  I peered at Eli and felt another flash of suspicion. Hope for what? I asked.

  More of you might rise, said Eli. Even out of one small pack. Magic can do it. Rituals can do it. It occurs because the mana makes it occur.

  I considered Eli’s words with growing suspicion—but also a faint, intense hope. What do you mean? I asked, trying not to sound too focused in my curiosity.

  One can raise a creature to greater sight, said Eli. Make them become as you and I are.

  So she had meant what I’d suspected she had. She was talking about a spell to raise a creature to sapience.

  It was hard to believe. I knew as well as anyone that it was theoretically possible: after all, it happened naturally from exposure to mana. Surely somehow we could emulate the natural magical process.

  But I also knew that no-one had ever made anything resembling a breakthrough. There were proposed experiments that hoped to measure an increase in the frequency of ascents to sapience in large animal populations, but bathing an entire forest in denser, primeval mana was something that happened on too great a scale to be feasible as an experiment.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  If Eli was telling the truth, it was a phenomenal magical breakthrough. No matter the cost of such a ritual, it would have been tremendously useful. I reeled just considering the possibilities of a world where our wildhearts were each bonded to sapient creatures… creatures who could support stronger classes, faster limit increases, who would constitute an entirely new branch of elven culture.

  Did Eli know the significance of what she was saying so blithely? Even if I was who I had pretended to be, the knowledge should have shaken me to the core.

  Such a thing is possible? I asked. Truly?

  Truly, said Eli. And perhaps best, in your case. Do you not desire a mate? I can be companion to you, but there can be no camaraderie like that between those who share a species, for their sensibilities are alike.

  I don’t know, I said. I have been long alone. Your question is… too much to consider.

  I see, said Eli. I understand. We are almost there.

  I followed her for another minute until we reached a portion of the great forest where the massive trees had grown on a slope below us, so that many of their glowing crowns had completely pierced the treetop layer. Many of the great tree’s branches had been stripped away, and a hollow with several entrances had been carved through its core.

  The tallest of the trees was dead, and this was where Eli led me. This is my home, she said. Its top is where I live, and its bottom is where I keep my treasures. You are invited to go about only in the top-nest. The bottom is not for you.

  I understand, I told her.

  The nest was well-decorated. Hunks of created quartz had been set into the interior of the tree, and these began to glow with soft magelight at a gesture from Eli. Bones and dried flowers had been pinned or tied to the walls, and Eli had carved an intricate, swirling pattern along the spaces between them.

  Here we may rest, said Eli, floating into a wide inner chamber where rough vines had been formed into tight tangles that could be lain upon. I will send a call to the valley of the mushroom friend, and they will send the call to others. Tomorrow we will journey out and meet them, though perhaps tonight my fellow serpent will come to meet you early.

  Night comes, I said. The mist reddens and the world darkens. You want me to sleep here, tonight.

  Can you fly in the dark, Aziriel? You need not stay here if you do not wish to.

  I can fly, and see, in the dark, I said.

  Caution is wise, said Eli. If you do not wish to stay near me, you might sleep elsewhere and come to me on the morrow.

  Distrust seems a poor way to repay the new knowledge that you’ve given me, I said. The whole world has been cast in a new light.

  Yet caution is wise, repeated Eli. Though I do not wish for you to leave me. I have many questions for you, and expect you do for me, too. She raised her head, and the motion seemed to flow down her body as she adjusted position on her vine-bed. Still, I sense much hesitation in you, she said. You need not tell me everything, Aziriel. Caution is wise. And yet….

  What? I asked.

  Of all the great things that our intellects give us, I have found its best quality is that I may push beyond the caution of instinct and risk—for it is a risk to travel far and wide, as I do, yet it allows me to see so much of this wondrous existence. It was a risk to come and speak with you, and you with me, I know—for how can we know the heart of another just on their promise alone? How can either of us know who would overcome the other, if one were to elect the brute struggle of violence?

  I cocked my head Eli, suspicion flaring in me yet again. You fly faster, I said plainly. I am powerful, but surely if you were of brute morals I would already be dead.

  Perhaps, said Eli. But the bird who lands upon the nose of the logmaw is the faster of the two. Yet they land, because they are… unaware.

  Was Eli suspicious of me? It didn’t much matter if she was, unless her suspicion drove her to attack.

  But what is the little bird to do? Eli said, their mental voice growing softer, their words longer. Never land? Fly forever? Risks must be taken, and the thinking mind allows us to explore the fullness of life without our instincts gainsaying it.

  I eyed Eli, trying to discern where she was going with this—what risk, exactly, did she want me to take?

  When I said nothing in answer, Eli said, But that is only one way of seeing it. You must ask your questions of me—I know you have a great many.

  I do, I said. You said that mana is what makes us intelligent.

  It is, Eli said. Mana can do much!

  I’ve watched other animals and tried to emulate what they can do with mana, I said. In this way, and through my own creativity, I’ve done things that, on my lonesome, seemed extraordinary. Things that no other creature I’ve seen has done. But what you speak of feels like a different thing entirely.

  Oh yes! said Eli. Very different, very complex! I do not know how to do it—it was the tortoises who first found the secret. My mushroom friend knows the secret of the tortoises, knows the way to raise a brutish, unseeing creature up to the heights of our minds. Yet preparations must be done. Calculations must be made. They will need to know things in order to help.

  What sort of things? I asked.

  Show me to your old pack, the pack you left behind, she said. You must remember its place—I daresay you could never have forgotten it. I will know to judge the distances involved, and measure other things also that I may report to my mushroom friend. This way the ritual of waking can proceed most hastily.

  I eyed Eli. I see.

  I will not insist, she said, her voice softening, almost becoming a kind of cooing. But I greatly desire it. I wish to show you what is possible. I wish to show you that I can be trusted. I wish to give you this, Aziriel. A companion of your own kind.

  I see, I said. But still, I must consider it. I must consider many things. I will go now, and return to you when the mists lighten.

  You must be cautious, said Eli, in a tone that made it clear she thought I didn’t trust her.

  I’ve been alone so long, I said. This is too much to accept in a few moments. I must be alone with my thoughts.

  As you wish, Eli said quickly. I will be here when the mists lighten.

  Thank you, Eli.

  I rose, then took to the skies and began to fly back along the way we had come.

  I flew for perhaps twenty minutes before I dove beneath the reddening treeptop layer and doubled back, careful to mute the sound of my flight and to stealth myself using the [Wild Bond]. I returned to Eli’s tree, careful to fly in the lower layer so as to hide myself from her view.

  Then I extended my gaze as far as I could, reaching out to look into the tree’s root chamber with my magical sense. I saw a deep set of rooms, connected by wide passages to allow for Eli to move within them, along with—

  “Damnation,” I said, so quietly I was practically mouthing the words.

  I dipped below the mist layer and flew into the base of the tree, diving past a room decorated with more quartz and bones and into the one that had caught my attention, where I conjured a magelight to see by.

  The center of the room was dominated by a shape covered in faded pigments that had been painted across it, its form like that of a tall clay bowl turned upside-down.

  It was a giant tortoise-shell.

  The existence of the shell alone wasn’t what had drawn me into the tree. Closer now, it was easier to make out what I’d noticed from outside: the many, many marks that Eli’s beak had made on the shell’s underside as it had scraped out the meat within.

  Paintshell, she’d called it. Had she spoken the truth when she’d described sapient tortoises who travel the land, gathering and sharing stories? The art on the shell was of many styles and pigments, each worn away to a different degree. It had seemingly been made by many hands.

  Deeper below us, I sensed other trophies in similar displays. The bones and beak of another sky-serpent and three skulls belonging to great cats. These too had the marks of her beak. She’d eaten them all.

  I heard the rush of air that accompanied Eli entering the room behind me, but I didn’t turn around, instead extending my gaze to include her as she flowed into the doorway, blocking my exit.

  She hadn’t just sensed me entering her half-kilometer tall tree. She’d been following me. She wanted to find the location of the colony, though I couldn’t say why.

  It could be a disaster for us, if she had friends. Even if she lived alone, I would never allow it—just as I couldn’t allow her to bring news of me to any other creature she might meet.

  Eli had to die.