Francine started packing up. “Okay, that’s it for today. Oh! And heads up, Jocelyn said she wanted to teach a class tomorrow.”
I shot my hand up while the class groaned.
“Instead of another lesson tomorrow… could we have an assignment instead?” I asked, wanting to get out of a lesson with Jocelyn. “Something about how to calm or redirect magical creatures?” My voice was careful. “Like, not fighting them. Just figuring out how to make them leave.”
Francine blinked. I had caught her off guard.
I turned to the class. “Wouldn’t that be better? I mean, if one of us ever sees a Stormray, or any other dangerous animal, wouldn’t it help to know what to do?”
Olivander, being the ideal older brother, was quick to support me. “I think that could be very educational.”
Mira nodded, then whispered, “Yeah. I’d rather do that than take class two days in a row.”
She could have said this louder, for Francine to hear.
Dain frowned but shrugged. “As long as it’s not a big essay…”
Reed leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Reed leaned forward, eyes lighting up. ‘We could work in pairs!” He glanced at Talla. “Like research teams,” he added
Okay, sure. Biased excitement. But still, excitement!
Francine rested her chalk on the ledge and studied me. Then the rest of the class.
“I suppose… if enough of you agree, we can shift tomorrow’s lesson into an assignment instead,” she said. “You have one week.” She paused, then added, “You’ll need at least one credible source per creature. No made-up nonsense.”
A ripple of agreement spread across the room. I smiled, clutching my notebook close.
***
As we stepped into the entrance, we nearly collided with a man in flowing white robes, the fabric catching gold in the noon sun. Lumisiel’s sunburst gleamed at his sleeves, delicate and unmistakable.
He moved past us with the ease of someone who knew where they belonged. His silver hair glinted as he turned, and when his eyes met mine, I felt strangely steadied. Like nothing bad could happen while he was here.
This was Saint Alaric.
He didn’t need guards. He didn’t need to speak. The space around him just shifted, quieter, gentler.
He gave us a small smile, followed by a nod.
I watched him go, his staff thumping rhythmically against the stone as he moved deeper into the church.
It was amazing being able to see him as often as we did. Being one of the seven Saints, he should be living in a major city like the rest of them.
Jorren bumped me in the shoulder, knocking me out of my thoughts as he walked out the door. I stuck my tongue out at his back.
Olivander and I stepped into the sunlight. The others followed, spilling into the training grounds outside the schoolhouse. The air still smelled faintly of candle smoke and ink, but the breeze from the trees rolled in, crisp and green.
We started walking down the central path from the schoolhouse, looping around the cathedral and into the town square. The stone well in the center sparkled with a clean sheen, someone must’ve cast a cleanse spell recently. There were a few vendors setting up afternoon stalls: pickled vegetables, dyed cloth, tiny pastries I could already smell from across the square.
Reed groaned. “I’m too tired and hungry to go around asking people about animals.”
Talla pointed toward the vendors. “We could stop there first and get something to eat.”
I shook my head. “We should get started right away if we want to have tomorrow free. Besides, it’s Reed’s fault he’s tired,” I said, ignoring the fact that without Olivander, I would’ve been late as well.
“Actually, I’m a bit hungry too,” Olivander admitted.
Talla’s stomach grumbled.
After a bit of arguing, the group decided to split. All the older kids, Talla, Reed, and Olivander, headed off toward the vendors to get our lunch, while Dain, Mira, and I stopped anyone and everyone to ask what they knew about dealing with dangerous animals: how they learned it, and whether they had any books on the subject.
People in TillShade do buy books, but we don’t have a bookstore. We rely on caravans or the occasional traveling merchant.
My parents told me that in the cities, there are buildings called libraries, places filled to the brim with books.
And the capital city, Stillwater, has the biggest of them all. So many books that even if you read and read and read every day, you’d never run out.
I’d love to go there someday. But I don’t think I could bear being so far from our forest.
By the time the others brought our lunch, Dain had gotten an eyewitness account from Carrow about a Sentinel Finch.
Mira had gotten a story from Smith about an AbyssHopper, which apparently can turn off sound around them. But she said that if you sing to them, they’ll stop to listen, and if they like the song, then they leave.
Hathaway gave me a worn volume titled Predators of the Southern Vale.
After lunch, we all worked together to get the rest of the information they would need for the assignment.
***
The others had scattered, some to the square, some to the training ground, some went home.
I took the long way.
The sun was sinking low by the time I reached the edge of the forest path, where the village cobbles turned to dirt and wild roots, and the air changed. It always felt cooler here, as if the trees breathed differently than the town. Quieter too, like even the wind didn’t want to interrupt.
I climbed up the usual ridge, my boots brushing against moss and dry leaves, then followed the narrow, winding trail that led to my tree.
I finally reached the glade—Well, more of a hollow, really. But “glade” sounds better. Doesn’t reference nightmares.
I looked up to see my tree, Arbolive, in all her glory. Even though I planted her below the other trees, she still dwarfed them. She was the tallest in the forest, well, apart from my home, broad-limbed, her bark soft in the cracks and smooth on the ridges, filled with great handholds to climb and branches to sit on.
I climbed without thinking, letting my hands and feet do the remembering. A few feet up, I tucked into the opening where I always sat. I had a pillow there and everything.
I pulled out Hathaway’s book, Predators of the Southern Vale, and flipped it open again. I wasn’t reading, not really. Just running my fingers along the sketches. Imagining what it would be like to meet something like that. Or stop it. Or study it alive.
A KiteSqueak darted past, its leaves fluttering behind it like ribbons. I watched it vanish, then leaned back against the bark.
I didn’t mean to stay long.
But the book was glued onto my lap.
And the shadows stretched.
“Olive!”
I blinked, the name hitting me like a thrown stone.
Olivander stood at the base of the tree, peering up through the branches, arms crossed.
“Dinner,” he called. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” I said automatically, even as I scrambled down. “I was reading.”
“Mom made mushroom rice. Let’s hurry before it gets cold,” he said. “And she made those rolls you like.”
I made a noise that might’ve been a groan and slid down the bark, landing lightly on the forest floor. “You couldn’t have led with that?”
He turned, already heading back toward the trail.
I followed behind, brushing leaf dust from my knees. The forest light was already dimming. Stars would show soon.
Tomorrow would probably be another normal day.
But tonight, I felt just a little off. Like the air hadn’t shifted back quite right.
Like I was being watched by something other than the trees.
I didn’t look back. Just walked.
Dinner was waiting.