Sam
The trees closed in around us as we hauled Faelan deeper into the woods. His weight bore down like he’d grown roots mid-stride, and every step felt like a struggle against the pull of the land itself—like he had already begun the process of being swallowed whole.
And the forest seemed different than it had before, too. The farther we went, the thicker the air grew. Even by moonlight, the trees were greener than they should have been, and the ground was springy with new moss.
I kept glancing at Faelan, hoping he’d snap out of it once he gained some distance from Randy, but he was only getting worse, not better.
“Just a little farther,” Bethany said, though none of us had any idea where we were even going.
Callie glanced back to make sure nobody from camp had followed us, but the gathering had been too wrapped up in Randy’s nonsense to notice. That was the only good thing about this situation—no one would “helpfully” make it worse, because no one knew we had a problem.
Yet.
“Look—over here,” Bethany said as she broke into a jog.
Callie and I trailed behind her, half-carrying Faelan as Bethany veered toward a low, squat structure tucked between the trees. The wood was gray from exposure and the slatted windows were dark and empty.
“A shed?” I asked, but Bethany shook her head.
“Hunting blind,” she said. “Deer season is a big deal around here.”
I winced. “Nothing says ‘safe haven’ like a shooting gallery.”
But we had no other option.
Callie wrangled the door open, and the smell of damp plywood and mildew rolled out. The inside was cramped and dark. Bethany pulled out a pocket flashlight. The walls were particleboard, darkened with age and waterlogged around the edges. Short horizontal window slats ran along all four sides, just high enough for the wind to slip through.
The floor was dirt, packed hard from years of boots pressing down. Dry leaves had blown in through the gaps and gathered in corners alongside cigarette butts and a crumpled Twinkie wrapper. No furniture, no comfort—just four walls built for waiting, for watching, for taking something down when the moment was right.
But it was all we had.
Bethany and I guided Faelan through the narrow door with his weight dragging between us. He was too big for the cramped space, and when we lowered him, it wasn’t graceful—it was more like collapse.
His back hit the packed earth floor, and he exhaled slowly, like he was letting go of something deeper than breath.
Bethany shuddered beside me, chafing away gooseflesh. Callie gave the place a quick once-over. “Okay,” she said. “Now what do we do?”
Faelan pondered this for a moment, then said, “Nothing.”
I turned to him. “Excuse me?”
He sighed as if he’d already made peace with a fate the rest of us hadn’t caught up to yet. His eyes flickered in the dim light, the green in them deeper now, more like moss than fire.
“Samantha,” he said, and my stomach tensed at the quiet weight in his voice. “This is the way of things. The seed breaksopen so the tree can rise. The river eats away at stone until it carves a new path. The deer falls so the wolf may live. Nothing lasts forever.”
His hand pressed to the dirt floor as if he felt the land making space for him.
“I was never meant to stay anywhere for long,” he said. “That’s the way it has always been. I come when the season calls. And when the earth no longer needs me, I go. But now the cycle has turned, and this is price of imbalance. The land will take what it must to restore what’s been disrupted, and I—” He sighed. “I won’t fight what has already begun.”
I gritted my teeth. “Nice speech, but I don’t see you as some sacrificial lamb.”
Faelan gave me the ghost of a smile. “No. Lambs are innocent. I am not. I’ve walked through more lifetimes than you can count. I’ve shaped forests, guided rivers, whispered to the roots and watched trees rise. I’ve danced with mortals and left them behind, knowing the seasons would carry me elsewhere. But now, it’s my turn to be claimed.”
I shook my head. “No way. That’s not how this ends.”
“How can you stop it—how could anyone stop the inevitable? It’s a battle as old as man…and the land has always won. You’ll do nothing because there’s nothing to be done,” he said. “Leave me here, go back to your world, and let the land take what it’s owed.”
“The hell we will.” Faelan wasn’t going anywhere if I could help it. I turned to Callie and Bethany, ignoring the fact that the old particleboard was already sprouting tiny green shoots. “Anything that can be done can be un-done. We need that book.”
