“Humans,” I snarl, low and menacing, “take and destroy, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake.” My blood hums,restless, my muscles tight with the urge to move, to rage, to stop this before it is too late.
“Everywhere I walk in the forest, I see it. Plastic water bottles choking the rivers. The sky, suffocating with pollution. The ancients of the forest, sentinels of time, razed for roads and houses that will never be enough. And the creatures who once roamed freely? Slaughtered for a few bites of meat, the rest of their bodies discarded as if their sacrifice meant nothing.”
As if I meant nothing. My sacrifice meant nothing,my heart cries.
I do not look at her. If I do, I will see her eyes, wide and searching, trying to understand. I do not wish to be understood. I wish to be heard. Obeyed. Feared even. Anything would be better than this emotion that scrabbles at the inside of my chest like a caged beast.
“Humans believe they have dominion over the earth and exercise their right to take and take without giving anything back, no matter the cost. I’ve witnessed their greed and devastation right here in this very spot. No,Ididn’t bring a human here to this sacred place.”
She does not speak, but I hear the breath she holds, waiting for my next words.
“But my mate did. She brought a human here for that same flower. She was kind, always trying to help. Too trusting. He befriended her, gained her trust over time. The human told her he just needed one.Just one. Pleaded for it, like you do now. Do you know how he repaid her trust? Do you know?”
A roar shreds its way out of my throat, echoing in the oasis I’ve shared with my Winter Star. The mountains shudder beneath my anger, and she trembles like the plants around us, but holds her ground, waiting for my words to strike.
“He took it. Not just one, but every single one he could find. She begged him not to, tried to explain that we needed it for our little Snowling, who had fallen ill after his first visit. We didn’trealize, until it was too late, that a simple human sneeze would cost us his life.”
I draw in a ragged breath, wanting to stop the torrent of words but unable to now that the floodgates have been opened on my pain. “Yes, the winter star can save lives—ours and maybe yours. But it’s also taken them, and I’m not willing to sacrifice any more for this plant.”
I grant her no mercy. I gut her like I am gutted. Hurt her like I am hurting. “Or for a human.”
She inhales sharply.Good.Let her feel it. Let herseethe past as I do, etched into the marrow of my bones. Carved from my heart itself.
I do not tell her that I can still see my mate’s hands, frantically searching the earth for a single flower to save our child, her wails of despair echoing in the valley, the caves, the basin, my mind.
I do not tell her that I still feel the small weight of a snowling in my arms, light as snowfall, heavy as grief. I do not tell her how small he was. How fragile. How he had fit perfectly against my chest, tucked beneath my chin, his fur the color of the first snowfall. Or the way his tiny fist would wrap in my hair.
I do not tell her how my mate had withered. How she had stopped eating, stopped speaking, stopped living. She could not survive the loss of the snowling. And so, the mountain took her, too.
For a long time, I wished it had taken me, too. But I was not granted the mercy of death. Instead, I found one last winter star buried in the soil. A shriveled, dying thing. A single, withered root of the damned plant. We were kindred spirits. It should not have survived and neither should I.
But I made it live just as I did. For decades, I tended to it. Fed it, coaxed it, willed it into bloom. Hand pollinating it withloving care. It became my only purpose. My only reason for existing.
Until Dahlia blew into my life like the first breath of spring. I knew her eye color, the exact shade of its petals, was no coincidence. I knew it had given me her. Just as I had known it was too good to be true that after all of this time I would have a mate again. Maybe I had recognized all along that this was the plant she had been searching for.
And now, this damned plant that brought her to me is taking her away, too.
Her voice breaks through the storm raging in my skull.
"Eryon, I’m so sorry for your family. I’m sorry about what humans have done and still do. For all the destruction we cause. I can see now how much damage we’ve done, and it breaks my heart. But you don’t understand—” She breaks off to clear her throat, dashing the tears from her eyes.
“Ineedthis plant. I’m not just here for myself, for research. This isn’t about taking or destroying—it’s about survival. My life is at stake. Without theSilene vitalis, I won’t make it. I know it’s hard to trust humans, and I understand why you’d want to protect this place, this plant. But please, don’t let my desperation make you think I’m like the ones who’ve hurt you.”
Need.
Need.
She speaks of need as if she knows what it is to lose everything. She does not understand that I am already hers. I would give her my breath, my blood, my very soul. I would die before I let her slip away.
And yet she is asking me to give her the one thing I cannot.
“It took me decades to save this plant. The only thing that kept me going—the only thing that gave me hope—was the possibility of someday having another snowling. I did this for them. For my family. For my future. And now—” The words bring me to my knees, staggered by the weight of my grief. All Ihave lost; all I am losing. The plant is taking its toll again. But I cannot betray the ghosts that haunt me.
“Maybe you can still have a family, a snowling. I hope that for you, Eryon, I do. Not to replace the one you lost, but because I can see how important it is to you. I would never take all the plants. I would never try to hurt you.”
But she already has. She is choosing the plant overme.She said it was the only thing that had brought her to my mountain. I am not enough to keep her. I am not enough. I was not then, and I am not now.
“I haven’t seen another of my kind in centuries. I don’t deserve another family. And I was foolish to think I would ever have another mate. But I am the sworn protector of this place, of the forest. And I will not allow you to destroy all I have left,” I say, my voice sounding as old as my years.
