Lyra and Arin stood at the threshold of the Greenfold Expanse. The forest loomed before them— tall, verdant, and teeming with the whispers of leaves and distant birdcalls. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in radiant shafts, illuminating the mossy earth and giving the place an almost sacred aura.
Arin stood in awe, his eyes wide with wonder. The vastness of the world opened before him, and for the first time, he felt truly small— yet thrilled by the unknown.
But Lyra did not move forward.
Arin turned and found his mother's hand still gripping his, her gaze not on the forest, but on him.
"What is it, Ma—Mother?" he asked, hesitating halfway through the word.
Lyra tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. A soft smirk played on her lips. "What is it indeed? What happened to my little boy?"
Arin flushed and looked away. "N-Nothing, Mother. Kael said only kids say 'mama'..."
Lyra laughed gently, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "So, you both think you've grown up, huh?"
"Almost! I think."
She leaned closer, her voice soft but teasing. "It's alright, little man. You can call me whatever you like. 'Mama'... 'Mother'... you're still my boy."
Relieved that she wasn't upset, Arin smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Ma—Mother."
Her expression shifted, growing more serious. "Before we enter, there's something you must understand."
Arin blinked, puzzled. "Is there something we need to know before going into the forest?"
"There's more to the forest than beauty," Lyra said after a pause. "There are ugly things too— dangerous things."
"Ugly and dangerous?" Arin frowned, processing her words. "Like what, M-Mother?"
Lyra crouched, her eyes meeting his. "There are good and bad things in the world, Arin. Like the herbs I use for medicine— some heal, some poison. Some fruits nourish; others can kill. There are things you can touch, and things you must never touch."
Her voice was calm but firm, and Arin listened closely.
"To be safe, you need knowledge," she continued. "That knowledge has been passed down through generations. Do you know how we discovered what's poisonous? Someone had to be poisoned first."
It was a sobering truth. Lyra didn't sugarcoat it— she couldn't. Her son's journey was beginning, and ignorance in their world could mean death.
"But," she added, her tone shifting, "if you truly wish to face the unknown, you must grow stronger. When you're strong, even poison may not harm you."
Arin mulled over her words and slowly nodded.
Lyra allowed him a moment to reflect, then said, "There are magical beasts in the forest. Some are peaceful. Others... not so much. You must never approach one carelessly. There are paths you must not cross unless you are ready. You need to understand where to go— and where not to."
"And if I want to go beyond?"
"Then become strong," Lyra said simply. "Strong enough to survive the consequences."
Arin took a deep breath and nodded once more. He might not yet fully grasp the weight of her words, but they settled in him like seeds waiting to sprout.
"Are you ready, dear?"
"Yes, Mother."
Together, they stepped into the forest. Lyra's hand remained clasped around his as she led him forward, each step placed with intention. Though this was the outermost layer of the Greenfold Expanse, and known to be relatively safe, she never let her guard down. Danger, after all, didn't come with a warning.
Arin noticed how cautious she was, her eyes scanning the path, her posture alert. He mimicked her at first, tense and wary— but soon, his awe returned.
The forest was alive.
Birdsong echoed from unseen perches. Sunlight filtered through high boughs, casting dancing shadows on the forest floor. Thick tree trunks wore moss like velvet cloaks. Vines dangled lazily between branches, and the air was rich with the scent of earth and green.
Small insects hummed, and occasionally, a squirrel-like creature darted between roots. A butterfly with wings like stained glass landed on a nearby fern. Arin was captivated.
Lyra noticed his wonder and smiled softly. He was still a child— but he was learning.
They arrived in a familiar glade— one of the forest's "safe pockets." Lyra had visited often to collect herbs, and the path was worn with human passage. Even the forest seemed to acknowledge this, leaving the area less wild, more navigable.
"The outer region is mostly safe," Lyra explained. "Though magical beasts rarely stray here, caution is always needed. This glade is one of the few where people often gather. That's why the vines and buzzing insects are fewer— nature adapts."
Arin noticed the difference. The clearing, though still natural, felt touched by humanity. The grass was thinner, some spots bare from repeated use.
Lyra crouched near a small shrub.
"This," she said, "is a Feverroot plant."
The plant was no taller than two feet, with dark green leaves and a woody stem. She gently poured a small stream of water infused with magic into the base, softening the soil. Once it yielded, she parted the dirt and carefully extracted a few of the reddish roots, thin with jagged ends and a faint heat rising from them.
"This root is the main ingredient in FeverEase Tonic," she said. "It lowers high temperatures and helps the immune system recover."
Arin crouched beside her, nodding solemnly.
"We never harvest the whole plant unless we're certain more grow nearby. The forest lives through balance. If we take too much, we lose it all."
"I understand, Mother."
"Good." She placed the roots in a small vial and tucked it into a separate pouch. "Some ingredients must never be mixed. Doing so could ruin the medicine— or worse."
They moved on and came upon an ancient tree.
Its bark was thick and rough, green and brown like aged stone. Above, the branches stretched wide, silver-sheened leaves catching the sunlight like polished metal.
Lyra pressed her palm against the bark. "This is a Whisperoak. Its bark is used in a tonic to calm the mind and ease anxiety."
Arin reached out and touched the trunk. A cool, calming sensation spread through his fingertips.
Lyra found a spot where bark had been stripped before. With deft movements, she used a small blade to carve a fresh piece and added it to her pouch. "Always be careful with knives," she warned. "We don't take more than we need."
As they ventured deeper into the safe zone, Lyra introduced Arin to several more plants.
---
Milkflower Sap
Arin watched as Lyra gently snapped the stem of a yellow flower with five petals. A white, milky fluid oozed from the cut.
"This sap," she said, "makes you sleepy. It's used in sleep remedies, especially for restless children."
He touched a drop with his fingertip. It felt thick and sticky.
Moonvine
Climbing high along a Moonbark tree was a vine with pale violet flowers. Though it was still daytime, the petals shimmered faintly.
"This one only blooms at night. The petals glow in the dark," Lyra explained. "It's the main ingredient in Dreamer's Draught, a powerful sedative."
Arin gazed up in wonder. "It's like moonlight in a flower."
Thornfruit
Near a sunlit clearing, they found a vine bearing small red fruits covered in soft spines. Lyra plucked one and squeezed it.
"See the juice? Tart and citrus-like. It's used in Cold-Break Syrup to clear sinuses and mucus."
Arin took a cautious sniff. The juice made his nose tingle.
Lichen Milk
Near the base of an old, crumbling log, Lyra knelt and brushed aside a tangle of dry moss. "Watch closely," she whispered.
Arin leaned in as she revealed a thick patch of white-green lichen clinging to the damp wood. With a gentle press of her gloved fingers, she coaxed a pale, milky sap from the surface.
"This is Lichen Milk," she explained. "It grows in shaded places, usually on rotting logs or stones near water."
The sap dripped slowly, viscous and pearl-like. Arin watched it cling to her fingers.
"It's a natural emollient. We use it for cracked skin, dry patches, even burns. It soothes and repairs the outer layer without leaving a mark."
She handed him a drop on a leaf, and he rubbed it between his fingers. It felt cool and slick, leaving a faint, earthy scent.
Bitterblossom
Later, they came upon a patch of sunbaked ground where hardy shrubs had forced their way through dry earth. Amid them, a cluster of small yellow flowers bloomed low to the ground.
Lyra picked one carefully and offered it to Arin. "Bitterblossom. Go ahead, taste a petal."
He did— and immediately grimaced. "Ugh! That's awful!"
She laughed. "I warned you. The taste lives up to the name."
"What's it good for? Ruining someone's day?"
Lyra chuckled, then shook her head. "No— it's one of the best cures for indigestion and bloating. Even stubborn stomach aches. We grind the petals into a paste or boil them into the Stomach Soothe Tonic. The bitterness helps stimulate digestion."
She plucked a few more, storing them in a small mesh pouch.
Mistgrove Ivy
As they neared a gentle stream weaving through the undergrowth, Lyra paused beside a tree whose bark shimmered slightly with dew. Crawling up its trunk was a vine, its silvery-green leaves soft and velvet-like, curling at the edges.
"This is Mistgrove Ivy," she said reverently. "Very hard to find in the open. It only grows where the air is wet and clean— like near riverbeds or foggy groves."
She carefully harvested a few leaves with a curved blade.
"It has antiviral properties. I make a tea from it when someone's caught a cold or feels chills coming on. It doesn't just treat the symptoms— it helps the body fight the illness off entirely."
Arin inhaled the leaf's scent. It was fresh, almost minty, with a cool undertone like morning mist.
"This one's going into your medicine pouch someday," she added with a smile.
---
After each lesson, Arin felt more amazed. All these things— plants, bark, roots, even strange saps— they held power. Once, he might've thought they were just part of the scenery. Now, he saw potential.
"Maybe," he thought, "there is no such thing as a useless plant or tree. Maybe we just haven't learned what they're for yet."
The knowledge his mother spoke of was beginning to take root.
Every plant might have a use. Perhaps they simply hadn't discovered it yet.
He looked up at his mother with a new kind of admiration.
He was learning. Slowly, steadily.