*Between Sessions 31 and 32. The Ancelin home, high in the Canopy.* Phil Ancelin's study smelled of dried flowers and old paper. Jars of pressed specimens lined the shelves, each labeled in Sophie's precise hand. The room was built into a broad fork of the Great Tree, with windows open to the wind on three sides. A good place for owls. Less comfortable for jerbeen, Oriname sat in a chair clearly meant for someone twice his size, his feet not touching the floor, Halaname standing beside him. Ethex's parents stood by the window. Ethex sat on the wide sill beside them, talons hooked over the edge, wings folded tight. Mourals perched on a stool near the door. "Thank you for coming up," Sophie said. She looked at Oriname. "Both of you." Oriname nodded. He held his hands folded in his lap, very still. He'd carried the charm for decades, waiting for the right moment to pass it on. This wasn't the moment he'd imagined. "Mourals," he said. "Beechport chose you as chief. I respect that." He paused. "There's something that comes with the role. Something our family has kept for a long time." He explained it simply. A fae charm, ancient, passed from chief to chief since before anyone could remember when it started. It lets you feel what the people around you feel, not thoughts, not words, but the emotional truth of a room. Joy, fear, suspicion, grief. All of it, all the time. "It's not power," Oriname said. "It's responsibility. You carry everyone's pain whether you want to or not." Mourals was quiet for a moment. "Why are you telling me this and not just giving it to Halaname?" "Because you're the chief," Halaname said. Flat. Matter-of-fact. No bitterness in it, or at least none she let show. "It goes to the chief." "And," Oriname said carefully, "I believe that one day the role will pass back to Halaname, when the time is right. I'd like your word on that." Mourals looked at Oriname, then at Halaname, then back. "You don't fully trust me," she said, "but you can. I'll do right by you and Halaname. When she's ready, when Beechport is ready it goes back. You have my word." Oriname held her gaze for a long moment. Then he reached out and took Mourals's hand. The transfer was nothing visible. A warmth that passed between them, and then Oriname's hand was just a hand again, and Mourals went still. Her eyes moved across the room. She looked at Oriname first, then Halaname, then Phil and Sophie by the window, then Ethex on the sill. "I understand," she said quietly. "Thank you. I won't take this lightly." --- Phil cleared his throat. "There's another matter." He looked at Ethex. "For you." The birdfolk rangers had kept a secret for generations, the way to reach Lord Amite's court from anywhere in the Wild. Not a physical route. A sequence of actions, each one pulling you along an ancient thread of connection between Beechport and Amite's domain. Phil recited it carefully, the way someone recites a rhyme they learned as a child. Pull up into the branches of the nearest tree and leap uphill. Walk straight until blocked, then turn left and walk until you see something red. Turn right. Ten paces, then sit and meditate with your eyes closed until you smell the sweet flowers. To return walk out of his meadow and on until you see something yellow. Turn left, take ten paces and climb into the nearest tree. Leap downhill and you will return to where you were meditating on your way there. Don't spend to long in his court, or your trail can fade. "We were going to walk you through it step by step," Sophie said. She put a hand on Ethex's shoulder. "But honestly, you move through the Wild like none of us ever have. You may not need the teaching so much as the knowing." "Still," Phil said. "It matters that it comes from us. That you carry it forward." --- Phil and Sophie excused themselves to make tea. Ethex lingered by the window a moment, then followed them out, this next part wasn't hers. Halaname and Mourals sat across from each other. The room felt different now, smaller, with just the two of them and Oriname listening from his oversized chair. "The spirit," Mourals said. "Sorrel and I will keep searching, but I'm worried about what we do when we find it." "Contain it," Halaname said. "Sorrel can..." "Sorrel is one druid. She's everyone's great-aunt, not," Mourals interrupts, then catches herself. "She's capable. But there was a full circle once. Eight druids. Now there's one, and she hasn't taken a single apprentice. Why hasn't she?" "Because the others didn't just leave, Mourals. They were taken." Halaname's voice was hard. "One by one, over years. Gone on retreat, never came back. Wandered into the Wild, never returned. I tried to tell people. Nobody listened." "You think they were bottled." "I think Arjun has been hollowing us out for longer than anyone wants to admit. The druids. My family. Your grandmother. Our leaders." Halaname leaned forward. "That's why I went to Amite. Not because I wanted a war. Because no one here would see what was happening." Mourals was quiet. The charm was new and raw and the room was full of old anger. "All the more reason," Mourals said, "to think about what comes after the spirit. The spirit is a symptom. If you are right, and I accept that you probably are, then Arjun is the disease. We need to be ready for a harder fight." "Agreed," Halaname said. "But not yet. First we find this thing. Then we figure out how they sent it." Mourals tilted her head, an owl gesture, unreadable. "I just want us to be realistic about what we're facing. If Arjun can send spirits into our home, possess our people, control a dragon in our waters, we should be thinking about whether defense is enough. Maybe you were right to take the fight to them. Maybe, before they send something worse." Halaname studied her. "One thing at a time." "Of course," Mourals said. "One thing at a time." Oriname said nothing from his too-large chair. But his hands had gone still again in his lap.