Thornwick Rootshield's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Thornwick returned to the ancient stones as dawn broke over Rayormy's Den. He placed his pack against the largest boulder and pulled out the carved horn. The metal felt cold in his hands. He needed to practice the low notes first—the ones meant for earth creatures. His breath filled the horn and a deep sound rolled across the clearing. Birds scattered from nearby branches. He tried again, softer this time. The note held steady. After an hour, his lips ached but the sound felt right. He set the horn down and listened to the silence that followed. Small movements rustled in the underbrush. Something was paying attention. Thornwick walked toward the movement. A hollow tree stood twenty paces from his boulder. Lightning scars marked its trunk in dark lines. Vines twisted across the weathered wood rings. Blue leaves hung from its branches like tiny bells. He stepped closer and noticed the patterns the burns made—jagged paths that told stories of old storms. The tree had stood here longer than he'd been cursed. He pressed his stone hand against the bark and felt the grooves beneath his fingers. If this tree could survive centuries, he could learn these songs. A tower rose beyond the trees in the distance. Stone walls climbed high, wrapped in climbing vines. Violet flowers dotted the vines like spots of paint. At the tower's peak, a beacon light glowed steady. Lightning bugs danced around its base in spirals. Thornwick studied it for a moment. The tower meant people lived nearby—travelers who might know more songs or have heard tales of beast tamers. He would visit when his practice showed better results. A breeze passed through the clearing. Strange music filled the air. Thornwick turned toward the sound. A plant hung from a low branch near the hollow tree. Its stems formed patterns like woven thread. Small pods dangled from the stems and clinked together when the wind moved them. The sound was soft, almost like the high notes he'd read about in the scrolls. He stood beneath the plant and listened as the pods chimed again. Birds landed on nearby branches instead of fleeing. The plant's music drew them close without force. Thornwick picked up his horn and blew a high note that matched the chiming. Three birds tilted their heads toward him. He smiled and lowered the horn. The forest was teaching him what the scrolls couldn't—how creatures responded when the sound felt natural. He would practice here until the songs became part of him, just like the wind through the plant.