Chapter Three: Threading the Forest

  The forest path was barely that—a thread of beaten earth winding between gnarled roots and violet underbrush. Kayla’s feet, wrapped in rough-spun linen and worn leather, ached with every step. Her leg throbbed from the hurried journey, but fear was a stronger force than pain.

  Birdsong echoed around her, high and strange. The air smelled of moss and spicebark, and the light filtered through a canopy painted in dusky purples and pale pinks. Everything was too vibrant, beautiful but terrifyingly strange. She hadn’t expected the forest to feel... alive. Not in the sense of birds and insects, but in a quiet way—watchful, ancient. She was a city girl, used to the hum of traffic and the rigid order of concrete and glass. Here, the endless shifting shapes, the layered smells, the murmuring life hidden beneath the undergrowth—it all left her feeling exposed and hopelessly out of place.

  She tried to keep the sun at her shoulder as Anet had instructed. But she hadn't accounted for the dense foliage overhead. Following directions on a forest trail with no signage and no clear horizon began to feel absurdly optimistic.

  As she continued to follow the trail, a flash of color to her left caused Kayla to pause. Nestled beneath a fallen log was a cluster of flowers—small, bell-shaped, and pale chartreuse. Nothing like she’d seen before. Intrigued, she stepped off the path for a closer look, crouching to examine the petals, wondering what compounds they might carry. She found it fascinating how the greens stood out so much in this purple-rich world. As she reached out to gently touch one, a fluff of bright yellow further ahead caught her attention—was that Marigold? She used to make a great iced tea with the flowers, but Kayla also recalled the plants strong antiseptic properties. With her own injuries as a strong reminder she pushed through a gap in the underbrush, considering the benefits of a good wound healing agent as she approached.

  It was Marigold! The leaves looked so odd - the exact same shape as on Earth but purple instead of green. Kayla picked a couple of the flowers before pausing in consternation - what was she supposed to do with these? She needed to focus on getting to Safa's village. With a sigh she turned around and headed back towards the trail - or so she thought.

  The path was gone.

  She spun in a half-circle. Everything looked the same—violet ferns, soft undergrowth, moss-slick trunks. Had she passed that crooked shrub before? Was that the same green flower?

  Her stomach dropped. She walked several paces in what she hoped was the way back, only to find herself at a different tangle of brush. Was she still headed east? She didn’t know.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. But her pulse quickened anyway. She picked a direction, trying to keep the light on her shoulder like Anet had said. Still, without a clear trail, it meant little. She walked for what might have been ten minutes, or twenty in mounting anxiety, before a faint line emerged to her right—a narrow path winding between trees.

  Relief flared. She hurried toward it, but as she stepped onto the trail, a new fear rooted in her gut.

  Was this the original path Anet had set her on? Or something entirely different?

  She had no way of knowing. She followed the new trail as best she could, hoping against hope it was the correct path. It wasn’t until she reached a second fork, then a third, that she admitted she was lost.

  Completely.

  Her stomach grumbled. Her head throbbed. Her right leg was beginning to swell beneath the linen wrap. She limped to a mossy rock and dropped her pack beside her.

  “Brilliant,” she muttered. “Survive reincarnation, get murdered by exposure.”

  She tried to laugh, but it cracked into a wheeze.

  Picking up her pack she assessed her resources: a wrapped bundle of flatbread, dried fruit, a water skin, and a pouch of toxic herbs—sustenance for her journey alongside a last-resort escape. Carefully pushing the poison aside - she was not that desperate yet - she pulled out some bread and fruit for an impromptu picnic. Kayla ate slowly, mindful of her dwindling supplies and the uncertainty of when she might find more. As she drank from her water skin she realized she needed to make finding water a priority - thirst killed long before starvation.

  With a sigh Kayla re-wrapped her leg, trying to provide the best support to twisted and bruised muscles before re-packing her pack and continuing down the path - eyes and ears peeled for signs of water.

  Her vigilance proved unnecessary as not an hour down the path, the trail forded a stream of clear, swift flowing water that sparkled off orange-streaked stones. She paused to refill her water skin with relief, but hesitated. Was this safe? She had no iodine, no sterilizing tablets, no clue about the microbial threats of an alien biosphere. Scooping water with her hands, Kayla took a tentative sip. The water tasted clean. Sharp with minerals, but cold enough to numb her tongue. Without fire or a pot for boiling she would just have to hope for the best.

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  Kayla pressed onward, sipping sparingly from her refilled water skin, the trail winding ever deeper into the forest. The light grew softer, thick shadows stretching beneath the violet canopy. At first, she thought it was only late afternoon—she could still see the trail clearly and despite deepening shadows she could still make out the shapes of roots and stones along her path and the shifting leaves amongst deepening colors. But when she glanced up and saw the sun had already dipped below the trees, a jolt of confusion ran through her.

  It should have been far darker. And she could see no evidence for a larger moon or brighter stars to provide great illumination.

  Was this the Seer's eye at work? Did she have night vision? Or did everyone here see better in the dark? She didn't know. But the realization unsettled her.

  By full nightfall, Kayla had to admit she couldn't go much further. Her leg ached miserably, and fatigue pressed down like a weight. Her newly discovered eyesight also proved to still have significant limitations although she was now certain she could see better in low light than she had on Earth. She found a wide tree with thick roots and huddled beneath its sheltering arms, wrapping her cloak tightly around her. Sleep came in fits, broken by every rustle and crack of the night.

  The noises of the forest—so rich during the day—grew stranger in the dark. Each whisper of movement set her nerves on edge, and she could not shake the feeling of unseen eyes watching from the trees.

  She rose early, moving with stiff limbs and no real plan, other than to keep going. After a breakfast of the last of her bread and fruit, she tried to walk east, following the morning light as best she could whenever the path forked, but the forest was deceptive. Her sense of direction—never great to begin with—felt completely useless here.

  When the snap of a branch finally came, it was the first sound she'd heard that didn't match the small birds and animals of the forest.

  Kayla froze.

  She ducked behind the rock and peered through a curtain of violet ferns.

  The sounds of a struggle—grunts, heavy thuds, and the wet scrape of hooves against earth—rippled through the undergrowth. Then a cry of pain—a man’s, ragged and startled.

  She hesitated only a second. Then her training surged to the surface.

  She grabbed her pack, half-ran, half-limped toward the noise.

  It wasn’t far. In a hollow clearing just off the path, a man lay on the ground, clutching his leg. Nearby, the body of a boar sprawled on its side, tusks bloodied. The animal’s throat had been pierced by a short spear still lodged in its neck.

  The man groaned again.

  He was middle-aged, broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with silver. His clothing was simple but well-made: a sleeveless tunic of coarse-woven linen, belted at the waist with a strip of leather, and loose cotton trousers tucked into worn, dust-stained boots. A hunting knife hung from his belt, and a lightweight cloak—patched and travel-worn—was crumpled beneath him. His leg bled freely, torn at the thigh by one of the boar’s tusks.

  Kayla dropped to her knees beside him. “I’m going to help you,” she said automatically, already reaching for her pack.

  His eyes widened at the sight of her, flicking to her worn attire and unkept appearance, but he didn’t move. Shock. Good. No time to explain.

  She pulled out the cloth wrap from the flatbread and pressed it to the wound. “This needs pressure. Hold still.”

  The man hissed through his teeth but nodded.

  Kayla worked quickly. His trouser was shredded and she tore strips off to tightly wrap his leg. Grabbing a nearby log and her almost empty pack she elevated his leg as gently as she could. When he raised his hand to stop or assist her she didn't wait to find out but slammed his hand back down on the wound. He groaned, his skin paling in pain.

  "Keep the pressure on." She admonished.

  "We need some proper bandages, and this is going to require a thorough clean and stitches. Are you alone? Do you have a first aid kit? How far is the nearest villages?" She asked, mostly still operating on automatic as she tied off the last of her impromptu wrappings.

  The man tried to rise and almost passed out.

  “Nope. Stay down,” Kayla ordered. “We need to minimize blood loss.”

  He coughed a laugh. “You give commands like a soldier.”

  “Nope,” she chuckled dryly. “Like a Nurse.”

  That earned a puzzled look, but he didn’t argue.

  “My village is half an hour, do you think you can help me walk back?” He looked her over again. “You shouldn’t be here. These woods are dangerous.”

  “I noticed.”

  He gasped, looking at her eyes “You’re a Seer, a real one.”

  Kayla blinked. “How do you—?”

  “Everyone's heard the stories. One violet, one brown. Did you come to rescue me?”

  “No, if anything, I’m the one who needs rescuing.”

  He looked puzzled, "Your visions sent you to the forest for aid?"

  "No," she said with a grimace, "I'm just lost."

  His mouth twisted into a faint answering smile.

  The walk was slow, agonizing, but they made it. Kayla slung his arm over her shoulders and supported him over the uneven path. When the first rooftops appeared between the trees, Kayla’s right knee buckled with exhaustion, forcing her to grit her teeth and press onward.

  The village looked smaller than Deyel, with narrow lanes and low, flat-roofed buildings built from pale clay. Chickens scattered as they entered. A boy ran to meet them, wide-eyed.

  “Get the healer,” the man ordered. “And my wife.”

  The boy sprinted off.

  By the time they reached a shaded courtyard, more villagers had gathered. A tall woman in a a pale blue wrap draped over a simple but finely woven linen dress, belted neatly at the waist with a leather cord. Her sandals were sturdy but worn, the kind of practical craftsmanship that spoke of someone who valued quality without excess. A few simple bronze bangles jingled lightly at her wrists as she stepped forward, her expression shifting from alarm to awe when she saw Kayla’s eyes.

  “Seer,” she whispered.

  Kayla opened her mouth to object, to correct—but stopped. The moment had weight. Fear was too near to turn away help.

  “I need boiling water, needle, thread, and something to bandage with,” she said instead.

  The villagers scattered to obey.

  She looked down at the man she’d saved.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He smiled faintly. “Eran. Lord of Neyor village. And you?”

  “Kayla,” she said. “Just Kayla.”