The heavy door clicked shut, and the sounds from the village vanished. It was just the two of them now, with the quiet crackle of the fire pit between them. Fena walked over to one of the simple wooden chairs and sat down, her earlier anger replaced by a deep, weary concern.
She gestured to the chair opposite her.
"Sit," she said. Her voice was still commanding, but the edge was gone.
He sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on her. "So," he started, "you were saying something about a dying tree."
She let out a long breath, her gaze lost in the flames for a moment. "It is not just the tree," she began, her voice low. "The Great Root is the heart of this forest. Its sickness is a symptom of a larger problem. A rot that has been spreading for a long time."
"How long is a long time?"
