Through The Shifting Trees

Chapter 6 Shadows of the Mother Tree

The villagers are gathered, their voices rising in a song I don't understand, but one that resonates deep inside me. The melody feels ancient, powerful, and there's something about it that settles in my bones as if I've heard it before, even though I know I haven't. Even the children are singing, their voices light and full of wonder, threading through the deeper tones of the adults. The firelight flickers in the shadows, dancing against the massive trunk of the great mother tree ahead of me.

Clover steps forward, her gaze steady as she turns to me. She motions for me to follow, leading me closer to the tree. Its roots stretch wide across the earth, a solid foundation, and its bark looks like something that's withstood centuries.

When we stop at the tree's base, Clover lifts her chin, addressing both the village and the ancient being before us. Her voice carries a weight to it, reverent and strong.

"This tree has stood longer than memory," she says, her words echoing softly in the stillness. "It has watched over Annora, sheltering us, bearing witness to all who call this land home. Tonight, it bears witness to you, Eloise." She turns to me, her green eyes steady and full of meaning. "Place your hand upon it."

I hesitate for a moment, uncertainty flickering through me. But Clover's gaze is unwavering, and something in my chest shifts. I take a slow breath and press my palm against the rough bark. The moment my skin makes contact, the world around me goes wild.

The wind picks up, so fast and strong that it steals the air from my lungs. My head flies back, and suddenly, I'm weightless—floating. My body rises, the ground dropping away beneath me.

A kaleidoscope of moments from my life flood my vision. I see myself as a toddler, taking my first unsteady steps. My first day of kindergarten, walking into a classroom full of strangers. Playing with my childhood dog, tail wagging, always by my side. The rush of standing up to bullies in middle school, a sense of courage I hadn't known I had. Ice cream floats with my parents every new year, my high school graduation, standing tall, the weight of the future ahead of me. My first day at my college dorms, I felt the nervousness all over again.

Then, more personal moments—my first job, the feeling of independence and responsibility. The day I found my cat, abandoned and sick, and nursed her back to health with all the love I could give. The quiet peace of tending to my garden, humming to the plants as they grew. My first love, the warmth and tenderness that came with it.

But then... the darkness.

His face appears, like a shadow in my mind. The love that had once been warm and gentle turns cold. I remember the bruises, his hands grabbing me too tightly, pushing me into the walls, yelling at me over the smallest things. He'd say it was my fault. He'd twist my words, make me doubt myself, and slowly, I began to lose my sense of who I was. He said I wasn't good enough, that I was too much and not enough all at once. I remember his fists, the pain in my ribs, my wrists.

There were moments when I thought I'd be swallowed by the silence, by the guilt, by the shame. It became a constant fight to just breathe. He'd pull me close, then shove me away. I'd beg him to stop, but the words never worked.

The last straw... it comes rushing to the surface. The moment I packed a bag and rushed out before he got home, feeling the weight of it all lifting off my chest. I can still feel the weight of that decision, but I knew I couldn't stay. I couldn't let him destroy me anymore. I couldn't let myself become someone who accepted the pain as a way of life.

My body aches with the memory of it all, but I know I'm stronger for it. It wasn't easy. The healing was slow, but I found my way, piece by piece. I was shown my random acts of kindness—strangers who smiled at me when I thought I couldn't go on, the friends who held me when I needed to cry, the quiet moments in my garden that gave me peace.

The vision shifts again—my parents' death. The crushing grief. It felt like the world stopped. Then came depression, a black hole pulling me under, the silence so loud I couldn't breathe. The heaviness of it was suffocating. But even in the darkest moments, there were small sparks of kindness. Random acts, brief moments of light, and I clung to them, the only things that kept me afloat.

I see myself pouring into my work, desperately trying to make a change in the world I once called home.

The flashes shift again—I see the Photo Booth and my first moments with Cedar, I see Bunny, her bright smile, her kindness, the way she always made me feel welcome. I see Cricket, shy and timid, dropping vegetables and fruits. I'm shown helping him, how simple it was, but how grateful he was. Bug steps forward, defending me, his voice strong when Moss told me that Cedar should have left me for the centaurs' dogs. And the training with Moss. It was hard. She hated me, but I could see she was willing to help me, despite it all.

I see my first night in Annora, the uncertain steps I took through this strange new world. The stars were brighter here, the air thicker with magic I could feel how uncertain, exhausted, and afraid I was despite this being a fresh start, a place where the pain of my past would melt away in the shadow of the ancient trees.

But just as quickly as it came, the vision fades. The world around me begins to settle. The wind dies down, and my feet touch solid ground once more. A sob breaks from my throat and I clutch my body sucking in as much air as I can. I blink, my head still spinning from the experience, and when my gaze clears, I see him.

A man stands before me. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with antlers crowning his head, twisting and sharp against the sky. Long brown hair falls past his bare chest down to his hips, muscles rippling beneath the moonlight. He gazes at me with an intensity I can feel deep within me, as though he knows me, or has always known me.

He holds out a hand, and I feel the pull of something ancient, something primordial. His voice is deep, resonant.

"Welcome, Eloise," he says, and I feel the weight of his words settle over me like a promise. I belong here.

But I can't breathe.

The wind may have stilled, my feet may be back on solid ground, but inside, I'm still unraveling. Every moment I just relived—the pain, the resilience, the kindness—clings to me like ghosts, pressing into my skin, filling my lungs. And now, standing before me, is something else entirely. Something more.

The man with antlers doesn't lower his hand. His eyes—dark, ancient, knowing—hold mine, as if he's waiting. Not for a decision, but for understanding.

Behind me, I hear Clover shift. Then, the rustling of fabric as she and the others step back. I look at the faces of the villagers, some are crying others show sympathy and understanding. Were they shown my life story too? My eyes land on Cedar whose usual blank exterior looks shattered, concern written all over his ridiculously handsome face. The song has faded, but its echo still hums in the air, in my bones. There's reverence in the silence, a quiet deference that tells me this moment is his. Mine.

"You have been seen," he says, his voice deep, like the whisper of leaves in a storm. "The forest knows your sorrow. Your strength. Your kindness. And it does not turn you away."

Something inside me loosens—something I hadn't realized I'd been holding onto. The fear. The doubt. The quiet, gnawing question of whether I truly belong here.

His outstretched hand remains, unwavering. The space between us hums with energy, like a thread pulling taut.

I don't know what will happen if I take his hand.

But I think... I want to find out.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. The weight of everything I just saw still lingers in my chest, but here—now—the world feels eerily still, as if waiting for my next move. The antlered man's hand remains extended, patient, expectant. The air between us hums, charged with something ancient, something alive.

I don't know what will happen if I take his hand. But I know that if I don't, I'll regret it.

Slowly, I reach out. The moment my fingers brush against his palm, a jolt of energy rushes through me, like lightning cracking through my veins. The world around us blurs—colors bleeding into one another, the firelight twisting, the shadows stretching. My breath catches, and suddenly, I'm somewhere else.

The forest is gone. Annora is gone. I stand in a vast expanse of mist and light, the ground beneath me rippling like the surface of a lake. The antlered man stands before me, unchanged, but now I see him differently. Not just a man—something more. His presence fills the space, immense and uncontainable, as if the trees, the wind, the earth itself are merely extensions of him.

"You walk the edge of two worlds," he says, his voice softer now, but no less powerful. "One that has shaped you. One that calls to you."

I shiver, though the air isn't cold. "What does that mean?"

He steps closer, and though he towers over me, I don't feel afraid. "It means your past does not bind you. It has marked you, shaped you—but it does not own you. And it means this land, this forest, has accepted you. I have accepted you."

Something inside me tightens—something raw, something fragile. I don't know what to say, how to respond to the weight of his words. But I don't have to.

The mist swirls around us, shifting, revealing flickering images within it. Trees I don't recognize. Paths I've never walked. A glimpse of myself, standing at the edge of a river, my reflection shimmering in the water—except my eyes glow, bright and unfamiliar.

A vision. A future. A warning.

"You have a role to play here, Eloise," the antlered man murmurs, and his gaze pins me in place. "The forest does not make mistakes."

The mist thickens, swallowing the images whole. The world tilts—pulling, stretching—until my breath rushes back into my lungs and my feet find solid ground again.

I stagger. The firelight, the villagers, the great tree—all of it slams back into focus as if I've been gone for hours rather than seconds. My head spins, my knees threaten to buckle.

Clover is there in an instant, steadying me. Her grip is firm, grounding. "Easy," she says, her voice gentle. But there's something else in her eyes now—something close to awe.

I blink, trying to find words, but when I glance up, the antlered man is gone. The space where he stood is empty, save for the lingering weight of his presence in the air.

The villagers remain silent, watching me. Waiting.

I suck in a breath, still trembling. Because deep in my bones, I know—

Nothing will ever be the same.

I sit on the edge of the small bed, my hands gripping the worn leather straps of my pack. The room around me is dim, the only light coming from the flickering lantern on the wooden table. My heart is still unsteady, the weight of everything that just happened pressing against my ribs. The vision. The antlered man. His words.

"You have a role to play here, Eloise. The forest does not make mistakes."

I don't know what that role is. But I know this is the first step.

My mind reels thinking of the ceremony. It was as if I was there all over again, not to mention the vulnerable feeling that comes with the fact everyone else saw too.

I exhale slowly and force myself to focus on the task at hand. The trip will take two days, and I have no idea what to expect. I've been told little—only that it's important and that I've been chosen to go. I run through my mental checklist, shoving supplies into my bag.

• Water flask (I still haven't adjusted to the way fresh water is gathered here, but Cedar gave me this one.)

• Dried meats and fruits (Enough to last the journey, though I imagine we'll hunt along the way.)

• A small knife (For protection, though I doubt it'll do much if things go wrong.)

• A spare set of clothes (Simple, functional—nothing fancy.)

• A blanket (Nights in the forest are cold, and I don't know if we'll have proper shelter.)

Did I overpack? I pause, fingers brushing over the smooth leather of my journal. It's one of the few things I still have from my old life. A part of me wants to leave it behind—what use is it out there? But another part of me needs it, a tether to something familiar.

With a sigh, I tuck it into the pack.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up from where I've been double-checking my pack. The weight of the trip still feels a little unreal, but the excitement is starting to grow, even if the anticipation is tangled with nerves.

"Eloise? You almost ready or just overthinking?" Bunny's voice drifts through the door, light and teasing.

I can't help but smile as I swing the door open. There's Bunny, her long, curly blonde hair bouncing with every step, a grin already spreading across her face. Bug is beside her, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed, looking relaxed as usual.

"You're looking a little too serious," Bug says, his grin mischievous. "I thought you were all about 'new beginnings,' not 'overthinking everything.'"

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm just making sure I don't forget anything."

"Forgotten anything? You can't forget yourself, Eloise," Bunny says, her voice warm and reassuring as she steps into the room. "You've got this. I've been on countless supply runs, they're in and out." She pulls a spare scarf from her pack and hands it to me. "Here, this'll help with the chill on the way. Trust me, you're definitely going to need it."

Bug shoots a glance at her, his lips curving upward. "I'd argue she doesn't need any extra layers. I mean, look at her—she's gonna keep us all warm." He winks at me, earning an eye roll from Bunny.

Bunny rolls her eyes but can't help the soft smile. "Bug, you're going to freeze out there with all that charm of yours."

Bug shrugs nonchalantly, but there's a twinkle in his eye. "Hey, it works, doesn't it?" He shifts his gaze back to me. "You're going to fit right in, Eloise. Just make sure you don't let Bunny get too lost in her maps. She'd get us all turned around."

Bunny playfully nudges him with her elbow. "Says the guy who got himself stuck in a thicket last week. I was the one who had to save you. Besides,that's what Ash is for."

I chuckle, the tension easing from my shoulders. "I'll try not to get lost."

Bug grins, stepping back toward the door. "Yeah, right. You'll be great, Eloise. Trust me."

*$"

Bunny's voice softens, her usual teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "You really will be. We've got you."

With that, the three of us head out into the night, the cool air biting at my skin but the warmth of their confidence wrapping around me like a cloak.

The village is quieter at this hour, the usual hum of daily activity replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. The crisp night air carries the scent of earth and damp bark as Bunny, Bug, and I make our way toward the meeting point.

Cedar stands near a large supply cart, double-checking the gear with his usual no-nonsense focus. His broad frame is tense, his sharp tusks catching the moonlight as he adjusts the straps on a pack. Moss is perched on a nearby stump, arms crossed, looking half-bored, half-annoyed. Beside them, stands a man, his serpentine body partially coiled, hands idly sorting through a pouch of herbs. And then there's a woman, tall, poised, her gorgon features illuminated by the firelight, a leather-bound journal tucked under her arm. Her snake-like tendrils shift lazily, as if taking in the surroundings along with her sharp golden eyes.

Cedar looks up as we approach, his gaze landing on me. "Good. You're here." He gestures toward the others, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Eloise, meet Rowan and Ash. They'll be joining us."

Rowan studies me with a quiet, assessing gaze, his forked tongue flickering briefly before he dips his head in greeting. "It's a pleasure," he says smoothly. "I've heard much about you."

Ash, on the other hand, is already flipping through her journal, nodding slightly as if checking off a mental note. "Eloise. Human outsider. Unique circumstance," she murmurs, then looks up and offers a small but genuine nod. "Welcome. I look forward to documenting your adaptation process."

Bug snickers. "That's Ash for 'nice to meet you.'"

Ash doesn't deny it, simply tucking her journal away.

Cedar clears his throat, bringing the focus back to him. "Eloise is coming with us to observe and learn. This will be her first mission, so she's not to engage unless necessary." His tone is firm but leaves no room for argument. "We're escorting supplies to a nearby outpost, checking for disturbances along the route. Should be straightforward, but stay sharp."

Moss scoffs. "If it's so straightforward, why bring her at all?"

Cedar levels a stare at her. "Because she needs to learn. And because I said so."

Moss doesn't argue, but the way she flicks her wings irritably says enough.

Cedar turns back to me. "Stay close, follow instructions, and if things go sideways, let us handle it. Understood?"

I nod, straightening my shoulders. "Understood."

A flicker of something—approval, maybe—passes through his expression before he steps back. "Good. We leave at first light. Leave your pack, get some rest."

As everyone begins to disperse, Bunny throws an arm around my shoulder with a grin. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Bug smirks. "Give it time."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. I have no idea what's ahead, but at least I won't be facing it alone.