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“Hungry, boy?” I retrieve an apple from my satchel. Stretching it out to him, he plucks it from me, and I run my hand over his shiny, black hair.

A trail of rose petals leading back to the spot where Gwyn made her offering to the selkies catches my eye. Black hell. I knew we’d irritate them by swimming in their pool without invitation.

A heap of twigs and leaves rests where her gift once lay.

A return offering.

I step closer. At first glance, it looks like a careless pile, but the branches twist together, intentional and deliberate, forming the shape of a hound.

“What do you have there?” Gwyn asks. I startle and nearly drop the gift, alarmed that I didn’t hear her creep up on me. “Did the selkies leave you something?”

“No,” I say, holding the offering out to her. “The selkies left you a gift.”

She gently takes it, smoothing a finger over the knots and bumps and slick strips of wood that make up the figurine.

When she looks up, it’s not at me, but at the water. “Thank you, friends. I’ll cherish it forever.”

I think back to the shelves of figurines in her cottage and have no doubt she will.

We ride for a few hours before we come upon the grove with the Viretree.

I pull us to a halt, dismount, and help Gwyn down.

Once Cinder is tethered to a tree, we weave through the grove. The scent of rot hits us in a thick wave as we side-step patch among patch of sticky ichor.

She covers her nose with her hand. “Oh, that’s…”

“Rancid. I know.”

We continue walking until the copse of trees opens up to a clearing where the Viretree stands proud in the center.

Gwyn draws to a stop, her hand falling from her nose to her chest.

Her eyelids flutter shut.

“Dame Nature, I call unto thee.” A slight breeze stirs her hair around her face, and she smiles. “Ground my roots; I am yours to guide.”

She steps forward with purpose, like she’s being tugged by her goddess or the Sovereign Sisters themselves. She draws close to our sacred tree and places her palm flat against the weeping bark, black sap coating her fingers.

She cries out, falling to her knees, covering her clothes in the inky sick.

“This doesn’t feel like a curse.” Her face wrinkles with concern. “And it’s certainly not an ordinary sickness.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this manifest in nature before.” She digs into the ground with both hands and scoops up the wet, glittering ichor. “There’s so much… despair. Your land is sick with sadness, with loneliness.”

I crouch beside her. “Can you heal it?”

“I can try.”

She worries her bottom lip as she wipes her hands against her leathers and rummages through her satchel. She withdraws several vials and puts two back, only to retrieve a different one. Seemingly satisfied, she tosses the bag aside and empties the bottles one by one into the hole she dug.

“What is all of that?” I ask, gesturing to the ingredients even though her back is to me.

“Pinkweed, yarrow, a bit of lavender,” she says absentmindedly. “I also swiped a few primrose petals from your gardens as they have healing and protection properties I can siphon and will into your lands.” She buries the petals and herbs and falls back on her haunches, looking up at me. “I’m going to try to channel my power now. Stand back.”

I take a couple steps away from her.