Whispers of a Healer (The Realm of War & Whispers #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The Leighfeld Region

Home of the Healers

The forest had begun to change.

Bria felt it before she truly saw it, in the way the air moved across her skin and settled deeper in her lungs with each breath she drew.

It carried a sharper chill than it had only days before, not yet the full bite of winter, but a quiet warning that it would not be long in coming.

Leaves had already begun their slow surrender to the season, drifting loose from branches to gather beneath her feet, their muted crunch marking her passage along the narrow path.

Her thoughts drifted briefly to the village she had left behind, to the young mother whose labor had come early and hard, and to the long hours spent easing her through pain that had threatened to overwhelm her.

The bairn had come safely. A tiny lass, strong and determined from her first cry, and Bria, having done her part, left the woman and bairn in the capable hands of the local midwife and set out alone for home—Willowmere.

It was not her habit to travel without company, nor her preference.

A comfort healer was often accompanied, whether by a mender prepared to stitch and bind, a bone-keeper ready to set what had broken, a fever-tender who could watch for signs that others might miss, or a seasoned midwife.

This particular birth did not require one since the village already had a skilled midwife.

Each healer brought what the other could not, their skills working together where need demanded it.

Bria was different. She brought calm. She was a comfort healer.

Her touch had always eased what troubled those in her care, quieting pain and fear alike. It was not something she had learned, but something that had simply been hers for as long as she could remember.

A sound interrupted her thoughts, and she slowed her steps, tilting her head to the side to listen, but heard nothing.

She pulled her cloak more securely around her shoulders and continued walking, eager to reach home.

The forest had always been familiar to her.

She had walked it since she was a child, gathered from it, learned its quiet language.

It spoke in subtle ways, and those who listened understood when something was not quite right.

And she felt that now—something was not quite right.

She hastened her steps. She wasn’t that far from home, the safety of her cottage, her work with the healers, and the joy she got from the various wreaths and necklaces she crafted.

All were made from what the forest generously provided and the shoreline with its endless supply of seashells, stones, and broken glass that the sea had tumbled around for years and smoothed to beautiful perfection before leaving it on the shoreline for her.

Her head shot up and instinct halted her steps abruptly upon hearing the strange sound once more.

The previous one had been faint enough that she might have dismissed it had it not come again, just beyond the reach of certainty.

It did not belong to the steady rhythm of the forest, nor to the small, familiar movements of creatures that kept to their hidden paths.

It lingered in the air, not loud, not distinct, but different enough to draw her attention and hold it there.

She remained still, not making a sound, and listened more carefully now. Her gaze moved between the trees as though she might find its source if she looked long enough.

The forest answered with silence. Not the natural quiet she knew, filled with distant movement and life just beyond sight, but something more complete, as though sound itself had drawn back and left the space around her undisturbed.

The absence settled heavily, and Bria drew a slow breath, her fingers tightening lightly against her cloak as she considered her next step. She had traveled this path too often to be unsettled by every unfamiliar sound, and yet this felt different in a way she could not easily dismiss.

Another sound came then, deeper and more distinct.

It was not the soft rustle of leaves disturbed by a passing breeze, nor the distant call of bird or small creature moving unseen among the branches, but something that carried weight to it, something that moved through the forest rather than within it.

Her unease deepened and she contemplated what to do. But what choice did she have? She needed to get home as fast as she could, yet running didn’t seem like a good idea. Such a sturdy, quick pace would be heard, revealing her presence.

She continued to listen, her attention fixed on the direction she believed the sound came from, since sound came differently in the vast forest. After several silent moments passed, she took a cautious step forward, sensitive to every small noise.

After a few steps, she realized that was the problem; she heard no sounds. The forest had gone still as if it held its breath.

She had to reach home, where it was safe, and where she would be protected. She began to move, slow, cautious, and with a hint of fear.

A few steps, that was all she took when she caught sight of a movement through the trees, a flash of something large and white. Not something that belonged to the forest, not this forest.

Her heart hammered and her breath caught and she feared releasing it. When she could hold it no longer, it left her in a soft whisper. The need to get home had her feet moving quietly. She would avoid whatever was there with her.

Slow and sure her steps crept cautiously along the ground, her head down, not glancing its way. She would not see it, and it would not see her.

Bria felt something then, a slight stab of sorts, not painful, but noticeable. Something she could not ignore. So, naturally, she had to look. She turned and peered through the low growing branches of a tree that had shed a good portion of its leaves.

She saw it clearly then even though it stood at a distance, its form immense even in stillness.

White, unnaturally so, against the dimming tones of the forest. Its shape carried the outline of an enormous hunting cat, far larger than any she had ever seen or known to exist within these lands.

And two long-curved tusks sat on either side of its mouth.

If ever struck by even one of them, it would surely kill.

It moved. Not toward her, but across her line of sight, its body flowing with a controlled power that spoke of immense strength held in perfect balance.

Then it stopped, raised its head, and roared.

The sound tore through the forest, deep and raw, echoing through the trees with a force that seemed to press against her very bones.

It was not the cry of a creature claiming territory or warning off rivals.

There was something else in it, something sharper, something that she could almost feel.

Then it passed as quickly as it came, lost beneath the reality of what stood before her.

Bria did not move. She did not breathe, not fully, not enough to draw attention to herself. Every instinct urged her to remain as she was, to become as still as the trees around her and hope that she might pass unnoticed.

The creature stood unmoving. Then slowly, as though guided by something deeper than sight alone, it turned. Its head angled in her direction, and its eyes found her.

The moment stretched, held in a silence that seemed to draw the forest inward around them both.

Bria felt the weight of its attention settle on her, not as a passing glance, but as something deliberate.

Fear held her fast, pressing her in place as surely as any physical restraint.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, her body poised between the need to flee and the certainty that doing so would bring about exactly what she feared.

The creature took a step toward her, then another. Each movement was measured, unhurried, as though it had all the time in the world to decide what she was.

Bria remained still, though every part of her trembled beneath the effort. She thought to run, but his huge paw would take her down before she could take a few steps. So, she waited, praying he would find no interest in her.

When it drew near enough, she could see the details more clearly—the length of its two tusks, curved and deadly, the strength in its shoulders, the pure white of its fur, the deep dark of its eyes, and the unnatural size that marked it as something beyond what the forest should hold… could hold.

It lowered its head and sniffed, drawing in her scent.

Time seemed to hold its breath with her. And then—it turned away.

Without warning, without any reason she could see, it moved off, its powerful form slipping back through the trees with a speed that left her no time to question it.

In the space of a few heartbeats, it was gone.

Bria did not move. Not at once. She stood where she was, her breath returning in a rush she could no longer hold back, her body trembling with what she had forced it to endure.

The creature had seen her. It had come close enough to strike. And yet, it had not.

Bria did not linger. The moment her breath returned enough to release her legs frozen from fright, she turned toward the path and hastened her pace.

Her steps quickened with each passing moment as the need to reach Willowmere pressed more urgently upon her.

The forest no longer felt merely changed; it felt unsettled, as though something within it had been disturbed and had yet to settle again.

She had walked it countless times, gathered from it, trusted it. However, she now feared what it might harbor.

The memory of the beast remained too vivid, its size, its unnatural presence, and most of all the way it had looked at her—not as prey alone, but with something that lingered too long to be easily dismissed.

She pushed the thought aside and focused on the path ahead.