Mirys' scaled tail swayed in time with her words, as she spoke with a quiet authority that needed no translation.

Alvon moved up beside Rhiannon, his quick hands signing between phrases. "She says… it's best if we move," he pieced together meaning from her sounds and gestures. "We're beyond the full protection of the Veilwoods here."

Rhiannon blinked, "Have we overstepped?"

Alvon shook his head. "She knows we mean no harm, but… there are others in these woods who do. Hunters. Killers." He swallowed hard. "That's why she acted quickly."

Mirys stepped closer, looking from Rhiannon to Alvon to Ashwind.

"They have a path, a secure route they take to skirt dangers," Alvon continued. "But she asks…" His gaze lifted, locking onto Rhiannon's face as he left the question hanging. "Can you follow her lead without questioning it?"

Rhiannon felt her old attitudes stir, the urge to control, to direct. But she had already lost Greyhold. Ruth, her own sister, had turned on her. Her confidence was shattered.

Exhaling slowly, Rhiannon grounded herself with one hand on Ashwind's bridle and the other lightly touching the shard at her wrist. Through their new bond, she could still feel Nisik's curiosity humming around in her mind.

"But what about the other Shy?" Rhiannon asked with a note of concern. "They're on their way here."

Alvon scrambled up onto a mossy stone. He listened intently as Mirys spoke.

"It won't be safe here soon," Alvon translated, glancing up at Rhiannon, "We should go with them. They have a protected den. A well-hidden hollow, where those who the Veilwoods reject can't follow. She can take us there."

Rhiannon adjusted Ashwind's reins, frowning. "But we can't abandon the others," she reasoned. "They won't know where we've gone and why."

Alvon relayed their concerns to Mirys. The kobold tilted her head, considering.

"She understands," Alvon shared, looking up at Rhiannon. "Still… She offers to stay with us, to help shield us, while you decide what to do. She says the Veilwoods respect those who honor their bonds."

Mirys nodded at Rukrin and the pair began to circle the valley, scoping out the riverbank and surrounding vegetation. Alvon tried to keep up with the kobolds by sprinting at his full speed. This left Nisik and Rhiannon together under the banyans.

Mama says the trees are always watching and listening. The young kobold explained.

She can talk to them? Rhiannon asked, incredulous. What do they say about humans like me?

Nisik looked uncomfortable at the question, his scales visibly paling. Um… nothing good. They don't like hoo-mans. Want to keep you out. But… I think you're nice enough. I'll tell Mama to tell the woods. She listens to me sometimes.

Thank you, Nisik. But what don't they like about us? What do they want us to do? Maybe they'll feel better about me if I help keep the bad men out? Rhiannon flooded the kobold child's head with questions.

His parents and Alvon returned just in time to rescue Nisik from more grilling.

"Mirys explained that it's the spirit of the river that holds sway here, not the forest," the Shy translated. "So, the trees cannot shelter you from harm. But if you push on from here without the blessing of the Veilwoods, you can also lose your way. The trails and paths can twist and shift as they see fit. But move with care, and the trees will guide you."

"I… I'm just not used to being led around by kobolds… or trees… I've only started getting used to Shy!"

Mirys gave a low, thoughtful murmur, and Alvon's gaze softened as he continued: "She says you carry too much weight. Not just on your horse, or your back. You bear a heavy load inside. You may stand tall, but the Veilwoods noticed your burden." Mirys's gaze lingered on Rhiannon, as if seeing through to all the guilt and loss she bore.

Rhiannon continued brushing her hand over the shard at her wrist, letting its faint thrumming calm her. "I didn't come here to have… tree spirits pick me apart," she grumbled.

Alvon's voice was almost reluctant as he translated. Mirys just smiled and responded.

"Maybe you didn't. But you're here now…" he cut off before getting to what the kobold last said.

The kobold child, noticing a pause in the translation, piped up. "Mama says we need to hide from the bad hoo-mans looking for you and the little people. The woods don't like them. But I told Mama that I like you now, so she should too."

"Is that so? Well, I guess we have to help the woods with these things it doesn't like," she proposed.

She looked down at Alvon. "You trust these kobolds? The ones you Shy are allied with?"

The tiny Shy gave a small, careful nod. "Outside the caldera, I see no reason not to," he replied.

"I have an idea," Rhiannon said, a spark of the old fire returning to her eyes. "Alvon, you have any way of letting the other Shy know that we're moving?"

"Yes, we have a signal. But I can only use it once. Just something to let them know if they're clear to approach, or if they should avoid this stop entirely."

"That'll do." Rhiannon knelt, bringing herself eye-level with the kobolds. Nisik, let your mom know we'll follow you. But not all the way to your home. Not yet.

"What are you planning?" Alvon asked.

"We may not be true allies, Shy," Rhiannon said, her voice hardening with resolve. "But we share enemies. Since I'm sure you wanted to use me to lead the guards away from your people, we might as well do it the right way, on my terms. If I serve as bait, it'll be for a trap I set."

Alvon's eyes narrowed, then he nodded, a reluctant respect dawning in his expression. "I don't think I can stop you. As long as we don't put the others in danger."

Nearby, Nisik perched on a fallen branch, chirped excitedly, happy to be helpful, the traces of his thoughts brushing against Rhiannon's mind.

Mama says other little ones are coming, hoo-mans following them. They will both be here when the sun is high in the sky. But… there's another one, but not so little, not so big. Following them all.

Rhiannon kept her expression neutral as she relayed the information to Alvon.

"There's another Shy somewhere in the woods?" Alvon wondered. "Hmmm, must be a scout assigned to tail the guards."

"Let's put out the fire and break up the camp now," Rhiannon instructed the Shy. "We can worry about that later."

Decision made, Mirys headed out, gliding through the roots and ferns with sure-footed ease. She raised her hand in a signal that needed no translation: Follow.

"Sometimes the Veilwoods points out to us what we first think to be odd paths," she intoned, her eyes drawn not toward Rhiannon, but toward the iron bit in Ashwind's mouth. "Even gentle things can leave deep scars on the soil."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Neither Alvon nor Nisik were sure how to translate that for Rhiannon.

We should go soon so that the woods have time to hide the marks of your big animal friend. Nisik sent to Rhiannon's thoughts.

"Aren't you going tell me about your plan?" the scout asked the human as they piled dirt and leaves over their small pile of debris.

"Eventually, once I get a better lay of the land. But we can't just wait and talk about it here. Not with Ashwind sticking out. So, we follow the kobolds for now. But I've got something in mind for any possible encounter."

Mirys turned back towards the trees, hand in hand with her mate and child. Their scaled forms seemed to melt into the darkening shadows of the underbrush.

Alvon tugged at the hem of Rhiannon's robe. "I hope you know what you're doing. But I guess you were the overseer of Greyhold for a reason."

Rhiannon lifted Alvon onto the pommel of Ashwind's saddle. She patted the mare's flank, urging it to walk into the treeline. Once the beast and Shy were out of sight, she snuck back to the ashes of the fire, hurriedly burying a shard underneath the embers before catching up with the kobold family.

The silver-threaded river slowed and swirled into eddies, curving around slabs of ancient stone. Water hissed through gaps where stairs once descended, now broken and carpeted in moss. Ilkin crouched beside one such crevice, brushing aside mud to reveal the faint glimmer of another shard flake embedded in the silt.

Sela watched from a raised outcropping, one hand resting on her spear butt, the other shading her eyes against the dappled sunlight. Vazko remained a short distance back, arms folded, gaze fixed downriver where the trees astride the banks closed in like a tunnel.

Menna held the river shard in both hands, its smooth facets catching and fracturing the light into prisms that danced across her fingers, stored arcane energy humming beneath her skin. She looked up from it to find Sela watching her.

"You said Sylven's pika still has the shard on his harness?" Menna asked.

Sela nodded. "Unless something's gone very wrong," she confirmed.

Menna trained her instruments on their latest salvage with a thoughtful expression. "We've settled that not all shards release energy in the same way. They're like lenses, their shape and position change their function. If I can tune this one just right, it might—" She trailed off, frowning as she overlaid the shard with a coil of copper filament, and matched its angle to the currents.

Ilkin leaned in from behind her shoulder. "What's that you're trying to do?"

"The shard might not carry thoughts and words, but I can try to at least get it to resonate, maybe provoke a harmonic pulse. If I can tune into the frequency of Uiska's shard... and trigger a sympathetic signal…" Menna pattered on as she continued to adjust her tools and components.

"It's a long shot, I know," she grimaced, but a spark glinted in her eyes. "Still, I think… I can isolate the resonance from this one…"

She turned the shard around in her palm, then reached into her pack for more gear. "I might be able to piggyback a signal. We can't have a full conversation, but we can send simple messages at least. We just have to figure out how to make whoever first notices the signal understand what we're trying to say."

She laid the shard atop another ring of copper wire, keeping it exposed to the sunlight. She then touched one of her own shards, one her father had given to her "for luck" back in Rootshadow, to the shard from the river. A thread of energy blinked between them.

Menna closed her eyes, centering herself with the memory of Sylven's pika.

There was the faintest of pulses as the shard and ring spun in the water until they pointed in a definite direction.

Menna's eyes flew open. "Uiska's heading north!"

"Menna," Vazko spoke up with concern. "If you're pulsing energy through shards like that, isn't it like lighting up a beacon? We don't know who or what's out there."

"Not really," she countered, meeting his glare without flinching. "But if any hostiles are already on the move in the area, they may stumble upon us anyway." She paused, voice firmer than he expected. "Besides, Sylven's bonded to Uiska. I trust him to be able to figure it out. Sela, you said the humans don't know how shards work?"

Sela shifted uneasily. "They didn't when we escaped. But they still have Veyran. Who knows what he's taught them by now. This feels bigger than just us. And we're out here with no backup if things go bad."

"Be ready to use all the shard-power we've gathered," Vazko warned. "That should level the field… even against whatever monsters come our way."

The Shy caravan moved in a staggered line through the Veilwoods, slipping in and out of the trees and shrubbery as the vegetation thickened. The trail was narrow, and they had to take care not to disturb any more undergrowth than what was unavoidable.

Callan and Niva circled above on their bluejays, occasionally dipping through the canopy to give updates and check on the group.

Sunna's river toad bounced with each squelching step, unfurling its tongue every now and then to snag a snack. She kept her eyes trained on the traces of their passing, commanding the Shy and kobolds at the rear to cover up the more conspicuous signs.

At the convoy's center, the donkey Gertie trudged with determined patience. Inside the boat strapped to the beast, Veyran helped keep his fellow riders distracted with Deepshy folk stories, lectures about arclith, and the occasional magic trick. The children would erupt into giggles at even the simplest amusements. But they quickly fell silent whenever Eryl shushed them from her seat astride Nib.

Garret lumbered along, his broad back stooping under the low branches. Mara sat on his shoulder with her staff laid across her knees. From her high perch, every shake of a bush or shift in the wind earned a turn of her head.

Niva dove from the sky, landing lightly on a tree branch near Garret's head. "No signs of human movement along any of the trails heading north," she reported to Mara. "Looks like they haven't reached this part of the woods yet."

On the ground, Vikka walked just behind Gertie, her pace steady but distracted. She knew that the forest around them wasn't a passive backdrop, but actively listening. Threads of alertness, woven into the bark, roots and branches, brushed against her senses.

Mirys, she whispered in thought. Are you nearby? Something's messing with the Veilwoods.

She received no clear response, only vague reminders of patience and caution, prompting a frustrated honk.

Mara glanced down at the kobold. "Vikka? Are you alright? You seem… tense."

Vikka exhaled. "There's something… off about the woods. Feels like someone's crashing through, disturbing its peace."

Sylven, riding just ahead on Uiska, turned back to confer with the kobold. "Could it be Rhiannon on her horse? But we left her in a quiet spot that seemed relatively undisturbed."

"I don't know why Mirys isn't responding. I… I think I need to try reaching out to the woods like she does. But I'm not as good as her at it yet."

"Just try your best. I'm sure you can manage," Sylven encouraged her.

"I just don't want to let everyone down if I get things wrong," she admitted. "But I'll try. Just… give me a moment."

Vikka let herself fall behind a few steps. She knelt and pressed her palms into the loam, "Please," she whispered, voice nearly lost to the rustle of leaves from dozens of footfalls of varying sizes. "Tell us where not to tread."

She strained to hear the forest's voice, but it was like trying to pick out one conversation in a crowded room, with every tree whispering a different story. She sighed and rose, catching up with Sylven.

"There are… hunters and searchers… all around the woods. Some more dangerous… more… lost than the others," she said.

"Can you tell where they are?" he asked.

"Not clearly. Just that… we shouldn't take the lower trails."

Sylven's gaze narrowed. "Humans from Greyhold?"

Vikka didn't answer right away. "Yes.. but… there's something… worse."

"What could possibly be worse than humans!?" Sylven exclaimed, catching the attention of everyone within earshot.

Mara was already waving for Callan to descend. "Scout for an alternate route," she called out. "Veer west, closer to the riverbank, not as deep into the woods. We'll be more exposed... But we may need to force our pursuers to come out of hiding themselves anyway."

Mara tapped her staff twice on Garret's shoulder. "That bend coming up ahead, it's too narrow. If we get hit there, they can pin us down from both sides." Her eyes scanned the slope. "We'll need to use the ridge. Force them to split up if they want to follow."

Callan and Niva soared up and away on their bluejays, banking into the sun.

In the middle of the commotion, Uiska's shard started blinking.

Far behind along the riverbank, Wyatt crouched beside a half-buried hoofprint.

It was one of Ashwind's again. He could tell by the design of her horseshoes. Rhiannon's trail was weaving erratically now, harder to follow, but still there.

He rose, brushing the dirt from his palms.

A branch snapped nearby.

Wyatt froze in mid-motion. Then he heard footsteps, heavy, careless.

From the dense brush emerged a man in Greyhold livery, tugging at his belt and muttering curses to himself. He was alone, sword still buckled at his hip, looking down at the ground in frustration.

"I swear this is the same bloody rock I pissed behind hours ago," the man grumbled, kicking leaves up from the forest floor.

He looked up as a leaf drifted onto Wyatt's chest. Their eyes met.

The man squinted. "Hey… wait. Aren't you—?"

Wyatt turned and ran.

"Oi! Kid!" the guard bellowed, stumbling forward in pursuit. "Stop!"

But Wyatt was already gone. The boy wove between tree trunks and tangled vines. He didn't want to fight. And he knew he couldn't be followed.

He ran uphill, lungs burning, pushing himself faster. He didn't stop until the sound of the rapids swallowed the guard's shouting behind him.

Chest heaving, he whispered to himself. "That was close."

But the encounter told him something vital—he was gaining on them. Whoever the guards were pursuing, they couldn't be too far ahead now.

In a glass case at the back of Ruth's office in Greyhold, rested a row of small, dull shards on a scrap of velvet.

One of them began pulsing faintly, barely perceptible to human eyes. Then another joined it. And another.

Ruth, bent over her desk, glanced up at the case. She rose from her chair, springing towards the display.

The shards' glow was weak, and already fading, but it had been enough to rekindle her interest in the hunt.

Ruth's lips curved into a cold smile as she pressed her palm against the glass.

"How considerate of you little ones to light the way…"

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