Slowly, like a child on midsummer's day, Heila pulled the bundle into her lap and began untying the laces that held the fabric in place. Once the fabric fell away, her breath caught in her chest as she looked at a piece of heartwood taken from a young willow tree. The piece wasn't large when compared to a twenty or thirty-foot tall willow tree, it was only four feet long and barely thicker than Heila's arm, but it was warm in her hands and felt much lighter than it should.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she cradled the wood, her eyes growing distant as she remembered the magic of that night. The willow trees had fought alongside her, no different than when she and Ashlynn faced off together against the dangerous beasts in the Briar. They danced at her command, their branches striking like whips to protect her from obsidian shards, their roots intertwining to fill the arena with her magic without giving the cultists a chance to discover where she hid.
