Chapter 61. Roots in the Silence

The forest here was a living cathedral of green and shadow, every bough and bole pressed close until the sunlight filtered down in slanted, motley beams. Oaks stood shoulder to shoulder with elms, their trunks thick and ancient, scarred by age and weather yet somehow thriving in this hush. Beneath the canopy, ferns unfurled their fronds in delicate spirals, and moss crept across fallen limbs in vibrant carpets of emerald. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaf, with the faint musk of mushrooms hidden under rotting bark. Roots wove beneath the loam in deliberate arabesques, snaking around half-buried stones as if outlining some secret design only the forest itself could understand. When a breeze drifted through, the bark’s deep furrows seemed to shift ever so slightly, as though the trees were breathing beneath their crust of wood. No birdsong pierced this solemn stillness; no rustle of small creatures stirred among the underbrush. Even the wolves, those fie