Eryshae

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Sam

Sam sat tall in the saddle, the leather reins slack in his hands, though his muscles were taut beneath his cloak. Beside him, the donkey plodded along with unhurried confidence, its rider; Magnolia; quiet for a time, as though letting the trees speak.

The Druid's presence radiated something ancient, something that made the hairs on Sam's forearm stand like blades of grass in a charged wind. There was no malice in Magnolia, but there was weight. As if the world bent ever so slightly around his will.

"You're troubled," Magnolia said finally, breaking the silence with a voice like leaves turning in autumn; soft, but with an edge of inevitability. "Worried about your lady?" Sam's eyes narrowed protectively. "You've been watching her?"

"I've been watching you," the Druid corrected gently, glancing sideways. "She merely reveals more about you than you're ready to admit." Sam didn't answer. Magnolia exhaled, almost wistfully. "The light beneath your skin; it's spreading. Slowly now, but it will find its rhythm soon. And when it does…"

He trailed off, tapping two fingers to his own arm in a mimicked pattern of pulsing veins. "Without guidance, you'll drown in it." Sam glanced down at his wrist, where the faint glow of bioluminescent veins pulsed softly, like embers beneath bark. "You said you dreamed of this."

"I did," Magnolia said, matter-of-factly. "I was told to be on this road, at this time. That I would know what to do." He looked Sam in the eye. "And I do. I am to train you." Sam arched his brow. "I haven't agreed to anything."

"You will," Magnolia said, unconcerned. "Because you have to. This; " he gestured to Sam's arm; "is not something you can afford to ignore. You think it's a gift, or maybe a curse. It's neither. It's a root system. And you're the seed. Whether you bloom or rot depends on how you're tended."

A rustle of movement came from ahead, near the vanguard. "Princess Vael watches us," Magnolia added, more quietly. "She would burn down a forest if it meant saving you. A beautiful danger, that one."

Sam's grip on the reins tightened, but he said nothing. "She'll come around," Magnolia said. "Once she sees what this is. What you are." Sam's voice was flat. "And what am I?" Magnolia smiled like the first crack in spring ice. "That's what we're going to find out."

Sam cast a sidelong glance at the Druid, the weight of Magnolia's earlier words still pressing against his ribs. The donkey snorted as it walked, unconcerned with the tension hanging between them. "You speak like nature is all that matters," Sam muttered. "As if cities; people; are poison."

Magnolia chuckled softly. "I said no such thing. Civilization is a vine. It climbs the bones of the old world, wraps its tendrils around trees, stone, sky. But vines can smother. What begins as shelter becomes a cage. Sam looked ahead toward the rolling horizon. "And yet we build. We always have."

"You do," Magnolia agreed. "Mortals build walls to keep the wild out. But I've yet to see a wall that doesn't crack when roots push hard enough."

"That's poetic," Sam said. "But we aren't trying to kill the wild. We're trying to survive it." Magnolia looked at him, his gaze calm but bright. "You survive because of it. Your lungs breathe the green, your body feeds on its gifts. Even your firewood, Sam. Civilization is not separate from nature; it is born from it. But your people forget. You strip mine the breast and wonder why the earth chokes."

Sam tensed. "We're not all blind. The Eryshae Tribe works the land. They… we, bleed for it."

"And the land remembers that blood. It listens." They rode in silence for a few paces, the sounds of the column behind them growing smaller as the trees thickened along the road's edge. Then Magnolia leaned back, squinting toward the tree line. "We've spoken enough of vines and cities," he said. "There's something I must show you."

He gently tugged the reins, turning his donkey off the road. "Commander Sidney!" Magnolia called with an almost cheerful ring. "This one and I have some Druid business to attend to. We'll find the envoy at dusk."

Before Sidney could argue, Magnolia added over his shoulder, "I swear by root and river, your Vice-Chief will be back in his bed by nightfall. With his lady." Sam exhaled sharply through his nose but followed, tugging his raccoon mount toward the trees. "You know, you're awfully comfortable giving orders."

"I don't give orders," Magnolia said, eyes gleaming under the green light of the canopy as they entered the woods. "I extend invitations. Nature always accepts." Sam huffed, glancing back once toward the dwindling road and the distant shimmer of the escort. "Druid business," he muttered under his breath. "You're a strange man."

Magnolia didn't answer. He led his donkey deeper into the trees, where the air turned cool and rich with the scent of moss, and the forest seemed to fold around them like a cathedral of leaves. Sunlight fell in lances through the canopy, catching on spores and dust, giving the undergrowth a dreamlike sheen.

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Sam dismounted when the trees thickened too tightly for easy riding. Magnolia slipped from his donkey in silence, tying the reins to a low branch. He raised a hand for quiet, then beckoned Sam forward through a thicket.

The scent of blood hit first. Nestled in a hollow, half-curled near a mossy root, lay a wounded deer. Its side was slashed open, likely from a hidden root or a hunter's failed arrow, and it breathed in shallow, stuttering gasps. Its flank trembled, and its eyes were wide with pain; but not panic. It had accepted its death.

Magnolia crouched beside the creature, his voice soft. "The world is not kind, Sam. It is not cruel either. It simply is. We Druids are not saviors. We are keepers." He reached into his cloak and drew a curved bone knife; simple, beautiful, clean.

"In one hand," Magnolia said, raising the blade, "we carry life." He placed his other hand gently over the deer's heart. Its breathing hitched once. "In the other; mercy." He drove the knife in cleanly. The deer jerked once, then went still. For a moment, there was only the wind.

Then Magnolia moved with practiced care, opening the carcass and cutting clean slices of meat. He wrapped each piece in broad green leaves from a pouch, murmuring a soft prayer in an old tongue. Steam rose from the body. Flies began to gather, but Magnolia didn't swat them. Sam stood still, watching the ritual. He didn't speak.

"You think death is the enemy," Magnolia said finally, tying a bundle of meat. "It's not. The true enemy is ignorance of what must be tended, what must be pruned." He rose and turned to Sam, eyes glowing faintly. "Now. Sit. Here." He pointed to a patch of moss between the roots of an ancient elm. "Breathe."

Sam obeyed, settling himself with a grunt, still uneasy but curious. "Close your eyes," Magnolia said. "Let the forest fall away. Let the road fall away. Let the girl; your Vael; fall away. There is a seed inside you, boy. Not one you were given. One you are. Find it."

Sam's breath slowed. The vines in his bioluminescent arm pulsed softly, flickering like stars under his skin. They coiled and curled with each inhale; first reaching outward instinctively, then, with guidance, turning inward.

"Good," Magnolia murmured. "Don't suppress it. Shape it. The seed is not your enemy." Sam's forehead tensed. A low hum filled his ears, not sound, not silence. Then; there. A sensation at the core of his being. Weightless and heavy. Tiny and infinite. A seed, pulsing with energy, growing in dark soil.

His glowing veins flared, crawling toward his shoulder; then reversed, spiraling inward. His skin shimmered, flesh shifting to bark in slow ripples before returning. Again. Bark. Flesh. Bark. Magnolia made a low sound, almost a hum. Not approval. Not alarm.

Curiosity. "Well now," the Druid said, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, "That's… not quite what I expected." Sam cracked one eye open, voice low but edged with suspicion. "What do you mean, not quite what you expected?"

Magnolia didn't answer right away. He walked a slow arc around Sam, carrying the neatly wrapped bundles of venison as if considering them; and Sam; on two sides of a scale.

"The Seed shows itself differently in everyone," he said eventually. "Some bloom wild and fierce. Others… grow slow and deep. Yours…" He stopped just behind Sam, head tilted slightly. "Yours is strange. Like a tree planted in the middle of a road." Sam frowned, flexing his fingers as the glow in his arm began to dim. "That's not exactly comforting."

"Not meant to be," Magnolia replied easily, stepping back into view. "You don't carry the Seed like a Druid born to it. You carry it like someone trying to make sense of it. Tame it. Frame it in logic and duty."

"I'm no soldier or hunter," Sam said, a little too quickly. "I wasn't trained for any of this, or taught about it in school."

"No," Magnolia said with a faint smirk. "You were trained to work. Maintain the status quo. Help people be the next cog in the wheel. That's worse." Sam raised an eyebrow.

Magnolia crouched again, tapping two fingers gently against Sam's chest. "Because you think this is just another problem to solve. But this;" He gestured to the forest, to the light still softly moving under Sam's skin. "This isn't a problem. It's a being. You." Sam looked down at his arm, where the bark had receded, skin returned, but still patterned with faint tendrils of glowing green. "It doesn't feel like me."

"It is," Magnolia said. "Just a version you haven't met yet." The two of them were quiet for a while, the sounds of birds returning to their roosts around them. "I didn't ask for any of this," Sam murmured. "No one ever does. Not the ones who are truly meant for it." Magnolia whispered back.

Magnolia stood, hoisting the bundle of meat. "Come on. Let's get you back before your woman starts thinking I turned you into a mushroom or something." Sam looked down at the faintly glowing tendrils still retreating beneath his skin, his thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a restless breeze.

Without a word, Magnolia extended a hand to him. Sam hesitated; not because he was above the gesture, but because something in it felt larger than politeness. Like accepting the hand was accepting everything that came with it.

Still, he reached up and clasped Magnolia's forearm. The Druid's grip was firm, grounding, warm in a way that felt older than fire. Magnolia pulled him to his feet with surprising strength, and for a moment, the two stood eye to eye.

"See?" Magnolia said, a subtle grin playing on his face. "You're not growing roots. Yet." Sam let out a quiet huff of laughter, brushing leaf mulch from his trousers. "No promises." Magnolia handed him a small bundle of the wrapped venison. "Then we should walk before you do. The trees already like you more than you know. Give this to your lady as a gift from me."

As they set off toward the fading gold light at the forest's edge, Sam glanced down at his arm once more. The glow was still there; less menacing now. Less alien. Like a pulse he'd finally begun to feel in rhythm with. "You're sure this won't... spiral out again?" Magnolia gave a nonchalant shrug. "Not tonight. Not if you keep listening. To it, and to me." The Seed within his chest still pulsed; not wild, but steady. Like a drumbeat. Like a path.

As he fell into step beside Magnolia, he asked, "What do I do now?" Magnolia glanced at him sideways. "Now? You walk with it. You listen. And you stop pretending this is something outside of you." He grinned. "Also, try not to bleed glowing sap in the middle of a diplomatic dinner. Makes people nervous." Then he tilted his head and added, "Besides, I promised your lady you'd be back in her bed by nightfall. Druids don't break promises to Princesses."