wary the green, be wary the trees,” I said, my voice not quite my own, thin as thread. “Be wary the song of the wood on your sleeves. You’ll step off the path—to blessing and wrath. Be wary the song of the wood on your sleeves.” Elm eyed me over his shoulder. “Been reading The Old Book of Alders lately?” I hadn’t. I hadn’t meant to say anything at
