“Kestra!” I call, but it’s too late. She’s gone, leaving only a twisted throne of dead wood where she stood.
June’s hands are tight on my shoulders. “What did she mean? About taking the valley?”
The implications send ice through my veins. “She’s going to attack the town.”
“My dad,” June gasps. “Merry, Dale, everyone—they won’t stand a chance against something like her.”
I turn and sprint back the way we came, moving faster now with urgency outweighing caution. June clings to me, her body molded against mine as I navigate the treacherous terrain at maximum speed.
“What can she do?” June asks between bouncing strides. “What kind of damage are we talking about?”
“In her prime, she could control every growing thing within miles,” I explain grimly. “Trees, grass, vines—all would bend to her will. In her current state, her power is unpredictable, but potentially more destructive. Roots could break through foundations, trees could fall on power lines, sinkholes could open without warning.”
“Jesus,” June breathes.
“We need to warn them,” I say. “Get everyone to safety.”
“How much time do we have?”
“It will take her time to move her consciousness down the mountain,” I reply. “An hour, perhaps. But once she begins…”
I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t need to.
We reach my property in record time, the sun now high overhead. June slides from my back as soon as we stop, her legs unsteady after the relentless pace.
“We need to get down there,” she says, already moving toward her truck. “I can call ahead, start evacuation procedures.”
I stand frozen, torn between competing instincts. Every fiber of my being roars to protect June, to keep her with me, safe on the mountain. But the thought of descending into a human settlement sends waves of panic through my system.
June turns back, seeing my hesitation. She approaches me slowly, her eyes pleading.
“I need you,” she says, her voice soft but urgent. “The town needs you. Kestra is too powerful for humans to handle alone. You’re the only one who might be able to stop her without anyone getting killed.”
I try to imagine it: walking into town, exposing myself to human scrutiny after eighty years of careful isolation. The memory of raised weapons and terrified screams echoes in my mind.
“June, I…” My voice catches. “The last time I approached humans—”
“I know,” she says, resting her hand on my foreleg. “I know you’re scared. I know it goes against every instinct you have.”
She’s right. The thought is paralyzing. I’ve built my entire existence around avoiding exactly this scenario.
June studies my expression, reading the conflict in my face, and to my surprise, she doesn’t push further. Instead, her eyes soften with understanding.
“I love you,” she says. “No matter what you decide.”
The words stop all four of my hearts simultaneously. She says it so naturally, as if stating an obvious fact like the color of the sky. As if the words haven’t completely reconfigured my internal universe.
Love. The concept I’ve studied through human entertainment for decades, never believing it would apply to me.
Before I can respond—before we can address the seismic shift her words have caused—she squeezes my hand once and turns away.
“I have to go,” she says, climbing into her truck.
The engine roars, and then she’s driving away, leaving me standing alone at the edge of my property as she disappears down the mountain road.
For a long moment, I don’t move. I think about the life I’ve built in isolation. The workshop, the weaving, the careful distance from everything that could hurt me. The safety of solitude.
Then I think about the life I’ve started to build with June. Meals shared. Reality television critiqued. Her laughter echoing through a cave that had known only silence for decades.
