Storm Season | Shelha Series 2 | ✔

Travelling Companion

Present Day

Taz said goodbye to the Coppertail herd after Beech finished the note to the renegades. Oakleaf and Willowgale had been taken in by the herd. There had been skepticism at first, of course—the pair were Leslanders and anxieties abounded—but the return of Tornado and his tales of Drakons had softened most hearts. If Oakleaf risked receiving the same treatment, the herd felt obliged to keep him safe.

Rose probably wouldn't have told Taz where they were going even if he had asked, so he hadn't bothered. She had, however, done her best to fill him in on the workings of the Lowlands. His sense of his twin was leading him straight towards the southern landscape.

Walking alone was weird. For perhaps the first time in his life, Taz found himself on a journey of unknown length without a single creature to talk to. He was relieved when the day passed uneventfully. He had half been expecting to be beset by hordes of enemies with every step, but it proved to be a rather ridiculous construct. The only landscape with a lower creature density than the South forest was the Rock flats, which were practically lifeless.

When dusk fell, Taz was prepared to keep right on walking until he made the important discovery that Whitewings, like Drakons, were not opposed to hunting at night. A close call sent him skittering for cover in the Darkwood, where he opted to spend the night perched uncomfortably up a tree. It turned out to be a wise decision. Come morning, deep scratches oozed resin down his hideout's trunk, around and around which paced the ruts of walking claws.

Okay, so that was a little too close for comfort. However, it also meant he'd learned something valuable: Whitewings couldn't climb trees.

The Darkwood stretched into the not-so-visible distance, so monotonous that even with a directional instinct Taz often felt like he was walking in circles. Dark or sickly pale plants flecked the forest floor. The red-barked trunks of the trees soared like pillars into the vaulted canopy; like the rest of the South forest, they were all the same age. Taz allowed himself to wonder what would happen when they reached the end of their lives. They were still in their prime now, but what would succeed them?

He had become so accustomed to the gloom that he did not realize how gloomy it was until a splash of sunlight appeared on the forest floor up ahead. Blinking and squinting in the light, Taz approached it.

It wasn't just one patch. Light like scattered blood spots shone across the forest floor. Up ahead, for as far as he could see, the trees were dying.

Taz slowed to pick his way through the area. The death got more pronounced as he went, until he was wading through drifts of needles and walking along fallen boughs the width of his body. The sun was hot where it shone between the still-standing skeletons of the trees. There was no sign of fungus, or of bug trails beneath their peeling bark. Everything was, minus its former liveliness, pristine.

When he had crossed the clearing, the damage waned again. Dead trees became sickly trees, then sickly trees disappeared. The sun spots faded out of sight. An unsettled feeling was crawling through Taz's fur like a heat-seeking insect. He shook himself, trying to dispel it, but it didn't leave.

By evening, Taz was pawsore from stumbling over the damp, uneven ground. He wasn't particularly hungry—Rocklanders, like Drakons, could go a day or two without food—but there was an ache in his stomach that would not go away. He bedded down, awoke the next morning sore and stiff and kept right on walking. Near what felt like midmorning, he saw sunlight through the trees again. He ran forwards. Even if this was another dead circle, he was ready to see the sun again.

It was another dead circle, but tiny and only a fraction as miserable as the first one had been. Taz stood and basked in it for a bit. When he hopped back into the forest, he skirted the patch and stopped dead. A flicker of motion darted down a tree up ahead. Vivid images of Whitewings flooded his mind. Taz let himself sink to the ground, where he more or less camouflaged against patches of moss. No. Calm down. It was too small to have been a Whitewing.