Cyrus had started chuckling to himself more and more. Not maliciously. Not loudly. Just… like he kept remembering something funny and chose not to share.
– What's so funny? – Keven asked after Cyrus chuckled for the third time near another bend.
– Nothing, – he replied. – The leaves… they rustle funny.
And kept walking.
Tilda gritted her teeth. Ellie said nothing. But now, she heard more than just him. She heard the forest.
At first – faintly. She thought it was the wind. Or her imagination playing tricks.
– The leaves are drying up, – someone whispered in a thin little voice. – Still no rain.
– It used to be warm. Now it's just dry. The tip of me curled...
Somewhere to the left, deep between the trees, voices argued:
– He dripped on me! – a leaf snapped. – His edge is wet. He should keep his moisture to himself!
– It's not me, it's dew! – another one said. – You grow lower, not my fault!
– Still gross. I'm all sticky now.
Ellie blinked. The trees were talking. Slowly. Wordlessly. Just feelings. Panic from one with cracked bark. Envy from another, trapped in the shade.
A flower spoke:
– I didn't bloom.
– Why not?
– I was thinking.
– About?
– Whether I should.
– Huh?
– What if no one looks at me?
– Silly. I bloomed and a girl smiled.
– Really?
– Really. It felt warm.
– Then maybe I will too...
And the grass...
– Careful, careful, there's a snail under us!
– Don't step on her, please. She just woke up after three days asleep.
Ellie stopped. Leaned down. A snail. Tiny, with a cracked shell.
– Hi, – Ellie whispered. – I'll be careful.
She stepped around it. The grass rustled, whispering in content:
– Polite. We like polite ones. Polite ones don't pick for no reason. Polite ones don't stomp...
– You okay? – Tilda asked, catching up.
– Everything's... alive, – Ellie said. And for the first time, wasn't sure whether that was comforting or not.
Cyrus walked up to a tree, placed a palm against it and said:
– We could stop here.
– We won't, – Tilda cut him off quickly.
– We could, – he repeated. – It's not scary here. No hunger here. – He turned to Ellie. – You can hear them calling, can't you?
Ellie didn't answer. She could. But hearing something doesn't mean you should follow it.
Keven paused behind her.
– He's drifting, – he whispered. – The smile's the same, but his eyes… they're not here anymore.
Ellie didn't answer.
She was watching a bush reach for the sun. It was happy the sky was clear today. It was waiting for light. It was singing – if bushes could sing.
And she... liked it.
She walked, catching each of those phrases like warm gusts. It wasn't magic. Wasn't enchantment. It was… life.
They truly cared when clouds lingered too long. When sunlight didn't reach even the tiniest blade of grass. When someone left – and didn't come back. And none of it was for her. It all existed – without her.
The trail stretched on. First a gentle slope, then a curve, then uphill again. Tilda was irritated. Keven glanced sideways at Cyrus every ten steps. Ellie kept quiet, because she heard:
– Careful, the soil's loose here.
– Root ahead, don't trip.
– Go slow down there, the rock's slick.
The forest warned them. But that didn't make it easier to trust.
– We're not going in circles, are we? – Tilda whispered. – Is he messing with us?
– We've passed that black pine four times now, – Keven muttered. – I memorized the knot.
Cyrus, of course, was just whistling ahead.
And then...
An exit.
They stepped past a fluffy branch, and there it was: the edge of the forest. A dry road. Stone markers. And across the valley – the guild roof. Thirty minutes away. Maybe less.
– What... – Tilda exhaled.
– I'm sorry, what? – Keven blinked.
Cyrus turned to them with a wide, genuine smile. Tilted his head, as if puzzled by their faces.
– You're tired. – He opened his arms. – I thought it would be better if you just… came out quickly. Hot stew, soft bed, a bit of peace. – He took a step forward. – It was nice meeting you. Truly.
He looked at Ellie.
– Especially you. – He tilted his head. – I'll hear from you. When the forest calls again.
And vanished. Not literally. Just stepped behind a tree and didn't come out.
Ellie stood there, staring at the slope.
No one said a word. Then Keven snorted.
– Screw this. I want meat.
And walked on. Tilda lingered, staring into the woods. And Ellie… Ellie heard the trees wish them luck. Heard the grass whisper:
– Too bad you left. We were just getting used to you.
– Come back again.
– We'll remember.
And she smiled. Because for the first time in a long while, parting from something new wasn't bitter. It was... real.
If you've ever prepped for a long journey, you know: it's not "grab your pack and go." It's repacking your bandages ten times. Arguing with yourself. Realizing you forgot water. Then remembering your canteen leaks. And arguing again.
Ellie felt okay that morning. Not excited – just... collected. She didn't rush. The city buzzed: kids yelling by the bakery, an alchemist arguing with a blacksmith about a potion that ruined a blade. Normal life. No mysteries. No spirits. No corpses.
First stop: "The Three Dwarves" shop. Loud but honest.
– Girl! – Kin, the owner, shouted as she walked in. – One bottle of resin left! Yours?
– Mine. Unless you doubled the price.
– Didn't double! – he shouted after her. – Just... honored the gatherer's labor!
– I'll honor your liver if it fails me in battle.
Kin laughed. They always haggled like this.
At the butcher's, she didn't haggle. Just grabbed a few dried cuts, some ratleaf jerky, two pieces of hard bread.
– Going solo again? – he asked.
– For now.
– Huh. Well, if you ever need, my brother's a blacksmith. Makes swords. Hands are a bit...
– ...but his heart's kind?
– Nah. He just drops the price.
Ellie smirked.
– I'll think about it.
A few more shops. Bandages. Thread. New poison vial. Nothing heroic. Just what someone who doesn't want to die stupidly would pack.
Last stop – a small tavern. Not guild-owned. Just a quiet place with no questions asked. They knew her there. Brought her usual soup without a word. And just... left her alone.
Ellie sat, hands around the bowl, listening to someone in the corner argue over which demon was cooler. A couple nearby debated joining the guild alone or finding a group.
Life. Normal.
By the time she left, it was evening. She walked home thinking: "What if there were no quests. Just wandering. Listening to trees. Talking to leaves. Finding something useless but beautiful again."
But a quest already awaited.
And her bag held fresh paper. And a pen that didn't scratch. And her mind – blank pages waiting to be filled.