The dusk began to close in around them and tonight there would be no full moon to help them. Camp was hurried affair, but on the leeward side of a raised, rocky outcrop they found shelter where the weary company could rest and because of its elevated position defence was possible should the Darcrast come.

The naturally occurring rock formation created a hollow at its base with a small promontory above them to ward off the rain, if it came in the night. Below them thorny gorse bushes would surely hinder any foe for a time. Ibbero counselled that there was to be a fire.  Despite the danger the company needed the cheer of warm food and feet. Deadwood lay close to the camp and soon a small fire was glowing in the night air. 

Within their packs they found oats, flour, butter, eggs and cheese. Asthralain within minutes was cooking oatcakes on the large hot stone that had been placed in the centre of the fire. There was no magic involved, only a small wooden bowl and patience. The wooden bowl and spoon was made from lalita wood, wonderfully light and as strong as iron. Nothing tarnished or stained the lustrous grain. It was made by her father and she cherished its sentiment and usefulness. It was rare wood throughout the land and for her father to find a fallen piece of bough was amazing luck. Yet it was known among them that some people learn of the hearts song of the trees and that if they sing it well the tree will cast off a piece of itself in thanks. The more she thought of it, the more she realised there were so many things about her parents that she never questioned. Among the company now perhaps Sonarta was the only one who would be able to sing to the trees.

Close to the camp Asthralain had seen wild rowan berries and while the oat cakes cooked she went to get some. These she mixed in the bowl with some honey and the company sat by the fire with cheese and oatcake with a rowan relish. While they ate Sonarta sang of the trees of old as though she had read Asthralain’s mind. Her voice was a benison of clarity and rose into the night like a flare of crystal that pierces every dread and brings calm.

Ancient forests forged at world’s birth

We serve your songs, value your worth

Your gifts we treasure, so stay your ire

Wood for the home, wood for the fire

No harm can come while we remain true

Forest of old our faith forever is in you

 
Now the land tastes darkness’s might

All around good people take to flight

An enemy comes with hate and axe

You wood and your death his evil tax

Fear not fair trees, we shall not waver

Our allegiance sworn without fear or favour

When at last the world is renewed

Brighter days return to end this feud

The hatred of old we will never recall

New duty begins, so say we all

We shall rest awhile, then again begin

To talk again to the trees as kith and kin

Ancient forests forged at world’s birth

We serve your songs, value your worth

Your gifts we treasure, so stay your ire

Wood for the home, wood for the fire

No harm can come while we remain true

Forest of old our faith forever is in you

Asthralain moved by the song said “Well met and sang sister. You honour us all. Though we are far from the great forests my heart hopes they may have heard your song.”

Sonarta nodded her appreciation of the recognition and went to the where the horses lay to check they were sheltered. The firelight flickered ruddy tongues of light within the circle of elders and above them the stars traced ancient stories in the night sky. Despite their days exertions there was no thought of rest or sleep yet. The day was old and growing into tomorrow but still the new day and its direction had not been decided.

Ibbero was the first to speak, “Today we have climbed almost to the crest of the Hozusta Mountain. Tomorrow we may see what lies on the other side. My memory says we should see the plain of Giga stretch before us like a wheaten sea. The plains are high above the level of the sea and few trees grow there. Only a few small, rocky outcrops and the mighty Surzest River break across the plain. It is my heart wish that the plains remain unsullied, but it warns me things have now changed. I have seen in my dreams the people of Giga scattered and the wheat crops destroyed. The Gigantis are hardy, feral people but the dark destroyer has no love of these rustic folk.