We decided to take the next day a bit easy. Frazzled nerves and weary bones do not necessarily make the best hiking companions.

  Misty, thankfully, appears to have fully recovered, and she chuckles at me when I suggest she should rest.

  ‘What else is a cat supposed to do when not hunting?’ was her joking answer as she stretched out in a shaft of sunlight.

  ‘You are certainly a very good hunter,’ I compliment her.

  ‘And you need more training,’ she quips back.

  ‘Hey! Unfair.’

  ‘Maybe, but true.’ I could swear she was grinning at me.

  I shake my head at the lounging cat. She is getting a lot more talkative, at least when relaxed and not engaged in other activities. I notice how, when focused on a hunt, her words get very short and to the point, as if conversation is a distraction from the main point of importance at that moment.

  Looking around, I see that Naomi is lying down, eyes closed. It seems she has gone ‘flying’—her term for an astral projection. I wander over to join Elara, where she sits in quiet contemplation on the pool edge.

  “She is getting better at that,” I say, indicating the recumbent child.

  “Mmm, and stronger. Her control over her mana grows every day.”

  “Do you worry she is rushing things?” I ask.

  Elara ponders for a bit before shaking her head. “She is doing what all children do when given something new: playing with it and learning all she can about how it works. I feel she will be a strong oracle as time goes on.”

  “And how about you? This must all be very raw—to see the shrine of your own god reduced to this.”

  “Yes and no, Del.” She looks up at me, and there is a soft smile on her lips.

  “Myrrith is the goddess of nature but also of balance, so she presides over things and experiences both good and bad and aims to achieve harmony.” She waves her hand around, indicating the shrine.

  “While this is sad to see in this state, balance demands that it will be brought back to wholeness again. We have already started that process in ridding it of the corruption.”

  I think I get it, so I nod.

  “Perhaps one of the stories about Myrrith will help you to see better who she is?” she suggests.

  “Sure, why not.” I settle down to maybe learn a bit more about this land that is, for now at least, my home.

  She starts to weave her tale, her voice melodic, almost a song in the way her words rise and fall. I feel hypnotised by the sound.

  “In the ancient days of Gondowa, when empires rose and fell like the tides, there was a kingdom known as Varynith. Its king, Tharion the Ravenous, was a man of boundless ambition. His armies scoured the land, devouring forests to feed his war machines, enslaving druids to twist nature's gifts to his will. Yet, among his many conquests, there was one place that refused to bow—Elarion Grove, a sanctuary of life protected by the goddess Myrrith.”

  As she speaks, I can start to see images, I feel myself transported to this even more ancient land.

  “Elarion Grove was said to be her heart made manifest, a living embodiment of balance and vitality. Towering oaks whispered ancient secrets, their roots intertwined with streams of crystal-clear water. The air hummed with mana, vibrant and untamed. Druids spoke of seeing Myrrith herself walking among the glades, her antlers wreathed in ivy, her touch bringing blossoms to bloom. The grove was a beacon of harmony, untouched by the greed of men.”

  The scent of the flowers, the warm touch of the earth, the resinous sap of the trees, all come alive to my senses.

  “But to King Tharion, Elarion was an untapped resource. The mana-rich soil and ancient timber were treasures he could not ignore. He declared that no grove, no matter how sacred, would deny his will. And so, he sent forth his army—a host of ten thousand soldiers armed with blades that gleamed like winter’s frost and hearts hardened by conquest.”

  And the sound of tramping feet can be heard in the distance, along with the ringing of metal on metal. An army approaches.

  “As Tharion’s army marched, the druids of Elarion Grove gathered beneath the Moonstone Oak, their most sacred tree. Its silvery bark shimmered under the night sky, and its canopy stretched wide enough to cradle the stars. They prayed fervently to Myrrith, their voices rising like a chorus of leaves rustling in the wind.

  ‘Myrrith, Keeper of Balance, hear us,’ they implored. ‘The blades of men come to sever our roots. Will you forsake us in this dark hour?’”

  I feel my heart yearning with theirs, joining their prayers for salvation from the coming horde.

  “For days, there was silence. The druids, fearing their goddess had turned away, prepared to stand alone. Yet as the dawn broke on the day of Tharion's assault, the air grew thick with a sense of watchful anticipation. The leaves whispered a name that only the trees could pronounce, and the ground seemed to quiver with latent power.”

  Even as the story progresses, I feel the stirring of mana within me.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “The army arrived at the edge of the grove, their banners fluttering in the cold wind. General Kaelor, Tharion's most trusted commander, surveyed the forest with disdain.

  ‘Burn it,’ he commanded, his voice sharp as an axe. ‘Cut the heart from this place. Let it bleed so our kingdom may thrive.’

  The soldiers advanced, torches in hand. As they stepped beneath the canopy, the air shifted. The birds fell silent, and the sunlight dimmed as though the grove itself rejected their presence. Shadows deepened, and the scent of wildflowers turned to something earthy and ancient, like petrichor after a storm.”

  I feel tears stinging my eyes. I feel fear and despair. No, this can’t be.

  “Then she appeared.

  From the heart of the grove came a figure of otherworldly grace. Myrrith emerged, her form both delicate and unyielding. Her antlers glowed faintly, adorned with tendrils of ivy and blossoms that seemed to bloom and wither in an endless cycle. Her eyes, as green as new spring leaves, held an infinite sorrow.

  ‘You tread where no man should,’ she said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. ‘Leave now, and I will forget this trespass. Persist, and you shall find no mercy here.’”

  Myrrith! She came.

  “Kaelor sneered. ‘You are but a phantom of superstition. Stand aside, or fall with your trees.’

  He raised his sword, signalling the charge. The soldiers roared, their torches flaring bright as they rushed forward. But before they could take another step, the ground erupted beneath them. Vines, thick as a man’s arm, shot forth, ensnaring their legs. Trees groaned as their branches twisted unnaturally, reaching out to pluck weapons from hands and helmets from heads.

  Yet the army did not falter. They hacked at the vines, their blades glinting with unnatural sharpness, and torches set the underbrush ablaze. The grove cried out in pain, its harmony shattered by fire and steel.”

  I turn my head rapidly; everywhere I look I see these men of steel hacking, smell the stench of the burning flames, feel the pain of the very trees themselves.

  “Myrrith stood at the grove's edge, her sorrow deepening as she watched the destruction. For centuries, she had upheld balance, nurturing life without taking it. But now, as the flames spread and the cries of her grove grew louder, her sorrow turned to resolve.”

  I feel her pain, my tears flood my cheeks. Then I feel her anger.

  “She knelt and placed her hands upon the earth. ‘I have warned you,’ she whispered. ‘Now, you shall become what you sought to destroy.’

  A ripple spread from where she touched the ground. The soldiers paused as the air grew heavy, their breaths hitching in their chests. The torches flickered and died, replaced by an eerie green glow. The earth beneath their feet shifted, softening, pulling.”

  Panic, fear. Horses fleeing in terror as Myrrith’s wrath flares.

  “Kaelor shouted for them to stand firm, but it was too late. Their armour groaned, bending and fusing to their bodies. Skin hardened into bark, and cries of fear became the rustling of leaves. Where men had stood, trees now rose, their twisted forms bearing faint echoes of their former selves. Some reached skyward as if in silent prayer, while others leaned toward the grove as though seeking forgiveness.

  The transformation spread like wildfire. The once-mighty host of Tharion became a forest unto itself, a grim reminder of the price of hubris. The grove, now larger and denser than before, stood renewed but haunted by the forms of the fallen.”

  Silence.

  “Word of the army’s fate reached King Tharion, and his ambition turned to fear. He ordered his remaining forces to leave Elarion Grove untouched, declaring it a place cursed by the gods. The grove became a forbidden land, its edges marked by strange, gnarled trees that seemed to watch all who approached.

  Among the druids, the tale of Myrrith’s wrath became a lesson and a warning: balance must be respected, for even the gentlest hand can become an unyielding fist when harmony is threatened.”

  Peace.

  “As for the grove, it thrived. The trees that had once been men now stood as silent sentinels, their forms blending with the natural beauty around them. Some said they could still hear whispers in the wind, faint echoes of the soldiers' voices. Others claimed that Myrrith herself walked among the new trees, ensuring they found peace in their eternal stillness.”

  As harmony fills my vision and my heart, Elara’s closing words complete her magical tale.

  “And so, the legend of Myrrith's Gift of Roots was born—a tale not of vengeance, but of balance restored. It is said that those who seek her favour must first offer respect to the grove, for it holds the memories of those who dared to defy her and lost themselves to the forest’s embrace.”

  I shudder as all the emotions and visions subside. The last to fade is the weird feeling I get from the statue. I look up at it, and I swear, for just a moment, it is not broken but whole, and as I look, it looks back at me and smiles warmly.

  I blink and look back at it. Just a broken stone statue.

  Naomi comes over.

  “I saw it,” she says quietly. “I saw them all like I was there.”

  “What happened, Elara?” My voice is filled with awe and curiosity. “That was like no other story I have ever heard.”

  The elf just shakes her head.

  “I don’t know. It must be because we are in her shrine. I felt like Myrrith herself was here with us. As if it was her words, not mine.”

  Misty saunters over and flops on her side next to me.

  ‘She was here,’ was her simple confirmation. ‘Now, can we go hunt? Maybe I will be able to teach even you how it should be done.’

  I just burst out laughing, getting questioning looks from Elara and Naomi.

  “Misty has been complaining that I suck at hunting and wants to take me out for some lessons,” I laugh.

  Elara grins.

  “I saw some dinkus,” Naomi tells me, “about half a mile further up the hill.”

  “Excellent. Does that suit you, girl?” I ask the cat.

  ‘Suitable. Come. We hunt.’

  I gather up a bow and a quiver of arrows, check my sword and skinning knife are secure, snatch up a water skin, and follow Misty out of the shrine.

  Time to hunt.