Another step and I found myself with an arrow hovering over my throat.
A girl held the bow, small and simple.Her green-tinted hair flowed to the ground, and she wore a dress that had imprints of leaves on it. Several others garbed in similar clothes surrounded us in a tight circle, strained eyes centered on us.
"State your purpose," hissed a boy, his hair colored like sunlight and skin colored like rust. He smelled oddly like apples and cinnamon.
Helen started, clenching her bow. "We--"
"Not you," said the girl with the bow. "Him." I gulped.
"We're--we--" Then I blurted out, "We're trying to find Naga." Bit by bit, I spilled out our story, avoiding Helen's hostile glares. Skipping the part about Fallie being my guardian and my mother's death, as well as the strange dreams, I told them about the goblin attacks and prophecy. Soon their suspicious expressions changed to shock, then remorse.
"We are sorry for interrupting this quest of yours," said the girl, lowering her weapon. Others similarly sheathed theirs as well and I realized that we wouldn't have stood a chance against this large coven. I tried not to think what a similar group of goblins would have done to us, without another escape route to guide us.
"Every day," she said, staring past an invisible horizon, "Her beasts strip down trees to burn for warmth. I have lost many brothers and sisters."
"Just who are you, anyway?" asked Jared cluelessly. The apple boy laughed.
"Tree-folk, of course," he laughed, sounding like wind sifting through a pile of autumn leaves. "But we should be more cautious about you. Who is this, an elf traveling with a human? Whose Guardian is this? Why does an avian walk in out wood, alive? But don't worry. We can take you to the edge of the wood. There is a family of centaurs who will help you find your way. They, too, do not let Naga's rampages pass by so lightly. Their memory is long, and their lives short." Compared to the average tree.
One with eyes dark and shiny, like a pair of berries nodded. The circle that surrounded us quickly dissolved.
"I am Dalia," said the first one who had held the bow. "The edge of the wood is not far. That boy," she pointed at Apple, "is Lyndel, the girl with dark violet eyes is Lauren, and the boy with russet hair and freckles is Rowan. There are plenty more, but for the sake of your memory I will not dare to delve." She talked strangely, in a language that seemed from a different planet than me. Which was partially true.
"I remember your father, John," she said, beginning to walk now. "He was very kind, and always showed respect." She laughed. "He should, too, since we are at least twice is age."
"Exactly how old are you again?" I asked, baffled. Apparently I must have been mistaken. Dalia looked no older than Helen.
"One hundred and five," she stated proudly. "The youngest in our group, Ashby, is but twenty."
"I just turned thirteen," I sniffed smugly. She laughed. Jared tugged his cloak tighter around him, and I noticed the edges of the sun reluctantly beginning to retreat into the horizon.
"I am surprised you overcame the First Dark Hunter," said Rowan, catching up. "I've heard they get stronger, though. One came through here once. We got him with an arrow, but he just got angry. He burned down half the forest that day."
"I'm sorry," I said, kicking a clod of dirt away.
"It's not your fault," said Rowan, sounding merry. "There's Twelve more, you know."
Wonderful.
"There were trees...you know, with the Hunter? Why did they attack us, if they knew that the Hunter wanted to kill us?" I said.
Rowan looked grave. "Not all of us are against Naga, you know. In fact, very few. Most of them are ready to kill those who go against her. I don't know why. Most of them are young, stupid ones, they'll believe every promise Naga makes but ignore every time she burns down a forest."
"Are all the clans like that? Split?"
"Yes," he sighed. "But we are the minority. Uniting them only seems to make them more divided."
Suddenly I heard a twitter to my side. A sparrow chirped anxiously to me, and suddenly the sounds became organized to form words, then sentences.
"They are coming!" Without another word(or chirp) the sparrow flitted away.
"What did he say?" said Helen urgently.
"He said, 'They are coming.' " I gulped. "What does it mean?"
Helen's eyes grow round.
"Is there anywhere safe you can take us?" she pleaded with Dalia. Dalia furrowed her brow.
"Come," she said. Pointing up, she asked, "See that tree? There is a wide notch fifteen feet up. It should be safe for you to climb. As for the horse--" But Fallie was gone. Instead, a white cat stood in her place, syrupy eyes blinking rapidly like two onyx. Disoriented, Dalia shook her head.
"--the cat can come up with you. We will go back to our trees to wait until the danger has passed."
Suddenly, the tree-folk turned and retreated into their tree, some near and some farther up the path. They seemed to relax and melt into the tree, like sleeping.
I struggled to lift myself up onto the thick branches, feeling every tremor that went to the tree. Please don't fall, please don't fall, I told myself.
You won't fall, said the tree. I jumped, then relaxed.
"Thank you," I replied.
Fallie scurried up the trunk with as much agility as a bird in flight. She purred and flitted her tail about.
You guys are so slow, she sighed.
"Shush," I scolded. "We're not cats." Fallie harrumphed and began to clean herself.
Seating myself next to Jared, I began to hear a sound: much like the stomping we had heard behind Lan'lienn's gate. Right before its fall.
"Goblins," I hissed, shivering at the name. Fallie growled. Each step sent tremors through the ground. They carried massive torches and led long rows of prisoners, chained into submission. Helen gasped.
Andon slumped, helping his line drag along a monstrous machine that flickered from the fire inside and clanked. A trebuchet: I had read about it once. It was a catapult, but much stronger and larger. It was used to knock down castles in medieval times.
Andon looked up, all past joy sunk down to a dim light, face streaked with a mixture of grime and sweat. His clothes were ripped to shreds, his back bloodied from lashings, and his bronze hair dirtied. The torches only threw his once full, cheerful face into deeper shadow, outlining the now thin cheekbones.
How could this happen so quickly? I asked Fallie.
Pain has a way of quickening itself with them, she replied.
He caught my eye and his green eyes widened, then were quickly averted as a goblin carrying a whip passed by his line.
Why were they doing this? I thought goblins didn't take prisoners. What was it for, since they were? What reason did they have?