Mira Thistle's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Mira knelt at the base of the dying tree and pressed her palm to its gray bark. The wood gave under her hand like wet bread. Above her, sparse leaves clung to brittle branches, and a few red fruits hung shriveled on their stems. She had come to save it. She did not yet know how. The hatchling padded a slow circle around the trunk, scales catching the dim light. She stopped at a break in the ground where roots twisted down into a pit of jagged stone. Dark water pooled below. The hatchling flattened, pressed against Mira's leg, and stared into the hole. Mira opened the wooden box at her hip. The iron clasps had gone green with age. Inside, a cloth pouch of pale salt smelled of brine and old rot. The diggers who packed it were long dead. She closed her hand around it and listened to the wet grinding sound rising from the roots below. She lowered herself over the stone edge. The hatchling climbed onto her shoulder and gripped tight. Halfway down, Mira touched a root and pulled back fast. Beneath the bark, something pulsed — not rot alone. Something harder. Something breathing. She understood then that the salt would not be enough. Whatever sickened the tree was alive, and it was waiting for her at the bottom.