Markos awoke to air sweet with the loamy mist of the forests and small rivers surrounding Westfallion.
A light breeze swirled through the valley, scattering loose pine needles and orange leaves along in lazy paths. The branches swayed overhead and cast strange shadows across the forest floor. Rivulets of afternoon sunlight broke through the breaks in the canopy, warming Markos's shoulders as he ran, laughing, towards a dense thicket of trees with his friends in hot pursuit. He knew there was something beyond the crest of trees, he would win if he reached it first. Each bounding step filled his lungs with crisp autumn air full of the perfume of late blooming tuberoses that were tended in his guardian's greenhouses.
He crossed under an archway of dangling vines that separated the grove from the rest of the forest, the air felt different. Bird song and laughter were muffled as pressure pressed against him, he felt submerged into icy water, his body suddenly weightless and heavy. Each breath was difficult as the growing pressure threatened to drown him. The shift in atmosphere slowed him and he struggled to continue forward. Markos didn't understand what was happening and he was frightened until the singular thought of touching the yew tree overrode whatever concern he had.
Markos had to keep going. He was going to win. The tree was right there, he just had to touch it. His hand stretched out before him, and the distance between him and the yew lessened, it was barely out of reach. He watched slender fingers lightly brush rough bark and he felt the resistance dissipate as quickly as it had began, he had surfaced for air once more. He panted, gulping a large lungful of air greedily as he leaned against the yew. Streaks of daylight brushed against his skin, spreading warmth throughout his body and banishing the chill. The sounds of the forest returned, the bird calls were suddenly loud, shrill, panicked, he decided. His gaze shifted upward to the canopy of purplish needles cast into shadow by rivulets of blinding radiance but he saw the dark shapes of small birds frantically moving along the lowest limb, tails twitching as they cried.
He focused on the feeling that something was wrong and his attention was pulled downward. The soft thumping of wings against hardened earth and panicked wheezing suddenly hammered in his ears over the cries of the birds above him. It was a small blue bird with a crested black head, he recognized it from some dimly remembered bestiary as a Karta jay, flopping pitifully in desperation to gain flight. Its wings beat futilely against the air and in a moment of stillness, Markos saw that one of its wings was stained crimson and bent at a strange angle. He knelt down over the jay and frowned. Why hadn't he noticed it sooner? The fledgling suffered, calling for its parents as it beat its wings.
He gathered the little bird in his hands and felt his heart race in time with the frantic staccato of the jay's heartbeat. A sharp pain erupted through his arm in sympathy and he knew it was dying as sure as he breathed. The unfairness of it all caused tears to swell up into his eyes. It was cruel, to deny the fledgling the chance to live like its siblings safe up in their nest. His chest tightened as a whispered lecture reminded him that nature was fair; life and death favored no one.
A strange, deep feminine voice whispered in his ear in a language he didn't understand. He knew intrinsically that the woman said, "It doesn't have to die."
The sounds of the world faded away once more as Markos strained to hear how far off his friends were and the forest, but he could only hear his breathing and the wheezing of the jay. It seemed hopeless but the voice offered him a chance. "How can I save him?"
"Can you feel it? The way is all around you, you just have to grasp it. Close your eyes and wrap yourself in the feeling of warmth, like a blanket. When you open your eyes, see him as he should be," the voice's instructions echoed between her strange tongue and Markos's native language.
Markos felt something shift inside of him as he obediently closed his eyes. His skin tingled with a sharp intake of breath. The world around him was alive and warm, he felt as if he could gather it and wrap it around him to help the bird. He reached out and grasped for the tangible sense of the world without hesitation, drawing on something that he felt beyond himself - the pulse of the earth.
Markos opened his eyes and fixated on the bird. He saw him whole. A brilliant blue light enveloped him and the jay. Wood cracked and splintered above him, the earth beneath him feet shifted and in the distance he heard shouting. In his hands, the bird chirped and stared up at him, restored. Sweat ran along the curve of his cheek and he smiled. The jay hopped cautiously onto his thumb before it took off into the air.
He watched it fly with a deepening sense of pride but his attention was drawn to the yew; its trunk was split and blackened as if it had been struck by lightning. The grass beneath him was brittle and lifeless. The weight of the changes tugged at him as stepped towards the ancient tree. "I didn't… mean…"
The child reached out to touch the bark of the tree to confirm that it was real and a firm hand clasped around his wrist. "No! You've done enough!" A sharp feminine voice snapped. His head jerked towards the speaker. An elven woman with a tangle of black curls and striking silver eyes, clothed in a rich gown of green silks, it confused him but he knew she was Lady Daina Korva.
"Lady Korva, I… the bird… why is the yew..?" His voice was higher than he remembered, and his hands smaller. The pain in his arm as the Lady wrenched it upwards made him wince. He struggled to get free.
"Do you realize what you've done, Sintija?!" Lady Korva's grip on tightened as she pulled him closer. His face stung as he started seeing white hot pain as the elf woman slapped him hard enough to have knocked him down if she wasn't holding him. Soft feminine sobs erupted from his tiny frame as the words of the exchange became muddled as Markos tried to understand what was happening.
"I don't know any elves. I don't remember this… what is this?"
Darkness wrapped around him and stole away the colors of the memory.
"Am I dead?"