She shifts onto her side and begins to hum absentmindedly, brushing her fingers across the moss without thinking.
And the trees murmur in reply.
Leaves shiver above us, low and resonant, the kind of sound that sinks into your bones and hushes everything you thought you needed to say. It isn’t language. It’s acknowledgment.
She goes still. “Was that?—?”
I nod again, slowly. “They heard you.”
Her mouth falls open, but no words come. Just breath.
I watch her.
And I wonder how something so alive could’ve stayed hidden from me for so long.
I start noticing the time.
The way the Grove shifts before she arrives.
The soil loosens.
The light bends softer.
The vines closest to the southern path stretch, as if reaching for her shadow before it even rounds the corner.
And I wait.
I tell myself it’s vigilance. I’m her guardian. I protect the ward lines. I observe patterns and monitor magical shifts. That’s what I was made for.
But that’s not the whole truth.
The truth is I start looking forward to her.
I count the seconds between her soft footfalls on the stone path. I tune the Grove’s pulse to her breathing. I watch her face for signs of sleep, strain, joy. I feel the way the trees lean when she passes, and the way the roots vibrate under her laughter like they crave more of it.
I know I shouldn’t.
She’s human.
Mortal.
And this bond wasn’t written in the old spells.
But it’s forming anyway.
Fast.
Every time she leaves, I feel the quiet grow louder. The Grove doesn’t just go still—itmissesher. And so do I.
I press my palm against the ward tree and close my eyes.
This is not what I was grown for. This is not why I was created.
For the first time in my long, soil-born life…
I wonder what it would be like to be chosen back.
CHAPTER 9
