I had a plan.
2
Wandering the forest, always heading in the opposite direction of the soldiers at my back, I searched for a tree. It had to be a magnificent grandmother tree, one so old and large that I wouldn’t be able to see the top or wrap my hands around the middle. After days of searching, I finally came across the perfect specimen—an oak tree older than living memory by several generations. It was so large that its canopy blocked out the sun, creating the illusion of dusk at high noon. Some branches reached far into the space of neighboring trees, while others brushed the ground, having bowed under their weight after hundreds of years of life.
If there was a more perfect tree in all the forest, I hadn’t found it in days of searching.
Climbing into the massive arms of my new home, I settled in and began to dig. In the crook of the oak tree, I chipped away until I’d carved a shallow indentation—enough space for me to sleep unseen, albeit curled in a ball. I became utterly obsessed with making the perfect hideaway, and I spent my time tediously digging out a small room.
It was nearly winter before I finished, and I had just enough time to create a trapdoor for the roof. I included several virtually invisible windows to be used as ventilation shafts for small fires when the cold of winter settled in. An invaluable advantage should someone try to sneak up on my location.
Burning walnut shells produced a brilliant, hot flame with little smoke. A cheap source of heat, a small stone fireplace, and the perfect fuel source—with my trap door and tight sleeping quarters, I had created a cozy little winter-proof nook.
Over the next two years, my life was a testament to survival. Every day I remained free was a blessing and each new skill I mastered was a treasure. I made flour out of acorns, created my clothing, expanded my tree apartment, and created a virtual highway in the treetops—though I never shared my paradise with anyone.
Three major events played a role in defining who I’d become. The latter two spawned from the meeting of one small, battered family. Winter had just set in, and I’d spent the summer hollowing out two more trees for use as food storage. On my way back from the closer tree, I saw a ragged group of dark-haired people with olive skin. There were four, all throwing wild-eyed glances over their shoulders.
Refugees.
Hunted like chattel.
But I had learned the risks of exposure the hard way.
Pushing aside the instant kinship I felt, I immediately tried to slip away unseen. I knew the danger of traveling in large groups—that the lure of safety was a treacherous thing that would only draw unwanted attention.
Slavers.
In my haste, I stepped on a branch, the crunch louder than thunder to the fugitives below me. Frozen, I could barely draw breath, terrified they would see me in the shadows.
“Father! There’s someone in the trees,” a girlish voice whispered.
After a moment, a man interrupted the silence of the clearing. “Hello? Can you help us?” he asked, his despair evident. “Please?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. After I cleared my throat, I tried again. “Who are you?” Brilliant first words. But my head was spinning, and my hands trembled with the need to end this conversation and flee.
“My name is Jake Trapper, and this is my family. Please, Elora has been invaded, and the slavers are after us. We need help. Please, you have to—”
“Elora?” I said, taking a step forward, shocked.
“She’s a Tritan,” the woman all but shrieked, speaking for the first time, her voice shrill in the silence of the clearing.
“Miss, have you been in the forest since Tritan fell?” Jake asked, taking a tentative step in my direction, clearly just as surprised as I was. When I didn’t answer, he rushed forward. “You have to teach us how to survive here—please. Save my children!”
My eyes widening in surprise, I stumbled back, my feet catching on scattered branches. Feeling the world tilt, I flung out my hands, reaching for anything that might restore my balance. Fingernails clawing at the tree bark.
Jake continued as though I hadn’t nearly fallen from the tree. “We can help you! You have to see that.” His eyes filled with tears.
“I-I can’t, sir. I don’t know—” I stammered, crumbling under the pressure.
“Just some food and water. Please?”
It was a trap.
A trap loaded with the dirty, tear-stained faces of his children.
“Stay hidden,” I said after a long pause before melting into the foliage. My survival instincts screamed this was a mistake. Helping these people would make me vulnerable, and it was my freedom on the line.
It would be nothing to disappear in the forest and never see them again… but that was a mistake I’d made once before. One that haunted my dreams.
