Chapter 1
Chapter
One
GILLIA
Ilove the way freshly fallen snow feels beneath my feet, when it’s still untrodden and perfectly crisp.
Walking through the forest, enjoying the soft crunch of every footstep after a storm, is one of my favorite tasks.
The air is still, only the occasional creak of a branch or scurry of a small critter breaking through the silence.
The forest is never quiet, not if you know what to listen for.
The plants are hushed, their everyday chatter taken down to nothing but a whisper as I pass through.
A few call out greetings, but most are resting after the eventful morning.
The rapid drop in temperature and the sharp gusts cutting through in the early hours signaled an impending storm.
I didn’t anticipate it would be this severe, the system dropping at least six inches of fresh powder, all while the wind howled through the trees.
It’s why I’m out this afternoon, taking in the damage and reminding everyone that we will recover. It’s an unending cycle, destruction followed by regrowth.
As I near the edge of my territory, the hushed voices of the plants grow louder and increasingly frantic.
“What is it, my babies?”
The blue-bead lilies tend to be muted this time of year, preferring to hibernate through the freezing winters, only to bloom again once the air warms. I can’t blame them for that.
I’d much rather be tucked into the bed in my tree, using the time to rest and recover.
But as guardian of this stretch of forest, that’s not an option.
The lilies continue as I listen, patiently waiting for them to tell me their concerns.
“The ranger?” I ask, confused by their chaotic cries.
I’ve been watching the forest ranger since she started six months ago.
This part of the forest is out of the way, rarely traveled by hikers and campers, aside from a few visitors during the summer months.
Our primary contact with humans is through the National Forest Service.
They maintain a station ten miles south of here, a small outpost staffed by a single person.
I’ve spotted many of the rangers in my time.
The job has a lot of turnover, even by human standards.
Most individuals only last a year or two, far from civilization, with only nature for company.
The new one is different. In part because she’s a woman, but also because she’s gentler than the others. More cautious of where she steps and how she behaves, almost like she can sense the underlying magic.
Of course, that’s not possible. Humans remain blissfully unaware of the life and magic around them.
It’s not always a good thing, but they can’t be trusted with the secrets we hold.
Our new ranger only hikes out this far once or twice a month.
The forest network shares gossip, including providing updates on her wanderings.
Over the last several months, I’ve worked out her schedule and can anticipate when she’ll be visiting.
She shouldn’t be here today, not only because the weather is dangerous, but because her schedule doesn’t have her back in these parts for another two weeks.
“Show me,” I command. The forest obeys, the bushes and trees parting to lead me deeper into the woods.
There, on the very edge of my territory, is the ranger, lying in the snow, her face a pale blue. The backpack she always carries is on the ground, half-buried in snow, leaning against an old white pine. From the looks of it, she was resting against the tree before falling over at some point.
I look around. Where there’s one human, there’s usually more. Except she’s always alone. An icy dread runs through me as I realize no one is coming for her. At least not anytime soon. By then, I suspect she’ll be gone. Her fragile body cannot withstand the cold for much longer.
I brush the back of my hand along her cheek, but don’t get a response.
Her beauty is striking, so soft and delicate.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
Living out here, I’ve grown used to rarely interacting with the human species.
It’s a blessing to be away from the encroaching cities and the bustle of busy hiking trails.
Except, when I look at this woman, dressed in a dark green that matches my skin, there’s a deep yearning, something I’ve never felt before, a need I can’t quite put my finger on.
I’ve been wrestling with it for a while.
Each time she comes this way, I hide as I follow her through my territory, watching.
I’ve paid attention to rangers before, but mostly to make sure they weren’t harming the land.
This is different. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep myself away from her.
Before I can think through the potential consequences, I have her in my arms. She weighs practically nothing, even soaking wet and bundled in a heavy coat. I’ll come back for her bag once I have her safe in my home.
The trees protest, their voices loud and accusing. Dryads don’t interfere in human affairs, especially in such a visible fashion.
“I know.” I bite back the words I want to say.
It’s not so much a rule as a suggestion.
Traditions going back centuries, beyond when most dryads, including me, can remember.
Humans are left to fend for themselves, my kind only getting involved when magic forces are at work.
Not a natural phenomenon, like a snowstorm.
The ruckus continues, everyone chiming in with their opinions. In the wind, the arguments from miles away continue to reach my ears, creatures near and far adamantly against my choices.
“Enough.” My voice carries through the branches, rustling through the pine needles of the old conifers. I don’t need to explain myself. This is my land; I’ll do as I please without explanation.
On the walk back to my home, I’m gentle, keeping my steps even to avoid jostling the sleeping human in my arms. At least I hope she’s sleeping, that she’ll wake up sometime soon. I’ll have a lot to explain when she does.