The trees protest, their voices loud and accusing. Dryads don’t interfere in human affairs, especially in such a visible fashion.
“I know.” I bite back the words I want to say. It’s not so much a rule as a suggestion. Traditions going back centuries, beyond when most dryads, including me, can remember. Humans are left to fend for themselves, my kind only getting involved when magic forces are at work. Not a natural phenomenon, like a snowstorm.
The ruckus continues, everyone chiming in with their opinions. In the wind, the arguments from miles away continue to reach my ears, creatures near and far adamantly against my choices.
“Enough.” My voice carries through the branches, rustling through the pine needles of the old conifers. I don’t need to explain myself. This is my land; I’ll do as I please without explanation.
On the walk back to my home, I’m gentle, keeping my steps even to avoid jostling the sleeping human in my arms. At least I hope she’s sleeping, that she’ll wake up sometime soon. I’ll have a lot to explain when she does.
Chapter
Two
SADIE
Everything is a little fuzzy. My brain is barely managing to piece together more than a thought at a time, oscillating between pain and numbness. It’s also stubbornly refusing to recall the circumstances that got me into this position in the first place. I know I went for a hike, wanting to enjoy the forest’s stillness before the winter storm. Reports from the weather service said the heavy snow wouldn’t roll through my area until later in the afternoon.
A big, fat lie.
It’s not only my head that’s giving me trouble. My limbs are heavy and tingly, but warm.Strange. They should be cold and unmoving. The fact that they aren’t is a bad sign. Perhaps I’ve given in to the hypothermia. According to the medical guides, it doesn’t take long to hit the incoherent and confused stage.
Leave it to me to be near death and still quoting from a textbook.
It takes a few tries for my brain to convince my eyes to open. Yep, hallucinating. Or already dead, and this is the afterlife.That’s the only logical explanation because I’m pretty sure I’m inside a tree right now. Even the largest trees around here don’t have the diameter to support something this cavernous. The place is almost cabinlike, whimsical, with walls crafted to look like tree trunks.
I look down and find myself lying on a bed of moss and pine needles, which explains the prickling feeling. Only, I know I didn’t do this. There’s no way my tired and frozen brain came up with this idea. So, whose is it?
A brief sense of dread comes over me as I swallow against a lump in my throat and look around.
No one. Not a single living creature. The fact that there are no other humans isn’t strange; it’s the lack of any living creature that’s tugging at my mind. No rodents. No insects. Not even any fungi. It’s like someone set it up for an expensive glamping experience, then promptly vacated.
This far out into the mountainous forest, not only is that unlikely, it’s impossible. Creating something like this requires a lot of material and trips through the woods, all of which I would have noticed. Which brings me back to the dead option.
I’ve never given much thought to the afterlife. Sure, I went to a few church services as a child, but none of it ever meant much to me. I always got more out of communing with nature, being out in the wilderness, and feeling connected to everything. I doubt this is what I would have imagined, but it’s precisely what I would have dreamed up for myself.
I pull the animal pelt closer to me and examine the pattern. I think it’s a black bear, but I can’t be sure. It’s only as I’m wrapping it tight around my body that I realize it’s touching my bare skin.
Someone undressed me. The guides all say hypothermia leads to paradoxical undressing, where the dying person strips off their clothes in confusion. I’ve witnessed it: a couple ofwinter hikers I found on the trail in my first year on the job, both half-naked and nearly frozen. They survived—barely—with significant frostbite.
I have no desire to run around the forest naked—even in the afterlife. There are far too many risks. Plus, I always get this weird feeling that nature is watching.
Trust me, I know how ridiculous it sounds. Many people have told me that I’m imagining things. I’m not. I don’t care if others can’t sense it; I can.
Across the room from me, I spot my backpack. I always carry spare clothing, just in case of a situation like this. Well, notexactlylike this. I might be an overpacker, but even I don’t plan for this kind of thing. I wrap the blanket around me and make my way to my bag. I’d be willing to swear under oath that I’m not alone, but no matter how many times I check, there’s no one. It’s not a large space. If someone else were here, they wouldn’t be able to hide.
“You’re losing it, Sadie,” I say to myself.
GILLIA
Gods, she’s gorgeous. I knew that the moment I saw her months ago, trekking like she’d been doing it her whole life. Of course, she was the talk of the forest, hushed murmurs as everyone talked about her, gossiping about everything from her looks to how long she would last in this setting. It was almost like she could hear them, turning her gaze toward a particularly vocal branch, eyes questioning. It was always enough to make them quiet down, if only for a second. As soon as they did, she’d be on her way, picking up her slow, methodical pace.
Now, though, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from her nearly nude body. I didn’t want to overstep by undressing her, butthe soaked-through fabric wasn’t helping to warm her up. She’d never have recovered like that, continuing to grow colder until her body succumbed to the elements. It left me with little choice but to strip her out of drenched clothing and tuck her into my bed. Humans can be strange when it comes to nudity, so I left her undergarments.
Like now, she can’t see me, with my form blended into the trunk of my tree, but she’s still got a tight grip on my blanket, keeping it pressed against her chest.
When she locates what she’s looking for in her bag, she gives the area one final glance before dropping her covering to the ground. A gasp escapes my mouth. Her head snaps up, gaze darting around, looking for the source of the noise.
She didn’t hear me. She couldn’t have. Humans can’thearthe forest. Dryads, like me, can make themselves heard if they want, though we tend to keep quiet. It’s easy to live our lives in the shadows, serving the forest around us, without constant interference from the outside world. When we do make ourselves known, it is either to warn of great danger or to mate.
