Thornwick Rootshield knelt beside a wolf's paw print in the mud. His stone fingers traced the edges carefully. The print was fresh, maybe an hour old. He stood and adjusted the massive hammer on his back. Somewhere in these wild lands, the old songs still worked. Songs that turned beasts into friends. He just had to find someone who remembered them. The wolf tracks led him through dense forest for three hours. They ended at the base of a cliff where great doors stood carved into the mountain. Runes glowed faintly around the stone arch, pulsing with soft blue light. Thornwick's moss-covered shoulders tensed. Dwarves lived here. Dwarves kept records. They remembered things other folks forgot. He stepped forward and raised his fist. The knock echoed deep into the mountain. If anyone knew where to learn the beast songs, it would be the dwarves who guarded their secrets behind these ancient doors. The doors groaned open. A dim hallway stretched before him, lined with torches. Thornwick walked inside, his heavy boots scraping against stone. The entrance hall opened into a vast chamber. Along the far wall sat a collection of wooden instruments. Pink and lavender light glowed from their surfaces. Ivy wrapped around the curved wood like living decoration. He moved closer and touched one gently. A soft note rang out, clear and true. These instruments could make the sounds he needed to learn. A steel sword lay propped against the wall nearby, vines twisted around its handle. Gray flowers circled the base. Thornwick lifted it and studied the blade. The dwarves had left tools here, things for working with beasts. The sword could help him hunt meat to draw wild animals close. The instruments could teach him which sounds they answered to. This place held everything he needed. He set the sword down and turned back to the glowing instruments. His stone fingers traced the wood. The lost songs were here, waiting to be learned. His journey to befriend the wild beasts would begin in this mountain hall.

Thornwick picked up the smallest instrument and ran his fingers across its strings. A single note hummed through the chamber. He tried another string, then another. The sounds didn't match the songs he needed yet. Learning would take time. He set the instrument down and grabbed a strip of dried meat from his pack. Tomorrow he would practice the notes until his fingers knew them by heart. Then he would test them on smaller creatures first. The mountain hall would be his training ground until the beast songs became his own. Morning light filtered through cracks in the stone walls. Thornwick walked deeper into the mountain chamber, searching for anything that might teach him the old ways. His stone fingers brushed against a pedestal covered in glowing vines. Scrolls and leather-bound books rested on its surface. He picked up the nearest scroll and unrolled it carefully. Strange symbols covered the page, but simple drawings showed creatures circling a figure who held an instrument. These were the records he needed. He pulled the pedestal closer to the torchlight and began to study. Hours passed as he traced each symbol with his finger. The scrolls described patterns of sound that different beasts answered to. Low notes for creatures of the earth. High, sharp notes for birds and small animals. He needed a way to test these songs where wild things might hear him. Thornwick left the scrolls and walked back toward the entrance. Outside, thick bushes grew along the mountainside. He shaped the nearest one into a hiding spot where he could watch without being seen. From here, he could observe which animals came near at night. The sun dropped behind the peaks. Thornwick returned to the chamber and lifted a carved horn from a shelf near the instruments. Deep marks covered its surface, telling stories of old battles. He carried it outside and set it on a flat rock near his hiding spot. When he was ready to practice, this horn would carry his songs across the mountain. Animals would hear and hopefully come close. He touched the cold metal once more, then headed back inside. The first real step was done. Now he had a place to learn, records to study, and a way to call the beasts when the time came.

Thornwick sat cross-legged on the stone floor, the scrolls spread before him like a map. His fingers traced the symbols again, committing each pattern to memory. The dwarves who made these records understood something important—beasts answered to specific sounds, not random noise. He rolled up the scrolls and placed them back on the pedestal. Tomorrow he would return to the ancient stones in Rayormy's Den where silence taught better lessons than any book. But the Den wasn't the only place where knowledge lived. He needed to hear stories from others who worked with wild creatures. Thornwick left the mountain chamber and followed a narrow path through the trees. After two hours of walking, pale moss appeared between the roots. The moss glowed softly in patches, lighting the ground like tiny stars. He entered a clearing where the lavender glow spread across the entire forest floor. Travelers sat on logs and stones, sharing food. Their voices carried tales of creatures they'd met and songs they'd tried. Thornwick settled onto a flat rock and listened. An old woman spoke of a bear that followed certain drum patterns. A young man described whistles that made foxes curious instead of afraid. Thornwick absorbed every detail. When others asked about his own work, he told them about the scrolls and the ancient stones. One traveler mentioned a statue he'd seen—a giant reaching toward a beast, carved in friendship. The statue honored tamers who succeeded where others failed. Thornwick decided he would find it. Seeing proof of what was possible would strengthen his resolve. Three days later, Thornwick stood before the stone carving. The giant's hand stretched toward the creature with patience, not force. The beast leaned in, trusting. He studied the statue for a long time, then pulled a flat stone from his pack. Using a sharp rock, he carved symbols onto its surface—the same patterns from the dwarven scrolls. He painted them with berry juice and wrapped vines around the edges. The stone would serve as a marker. He could place it along paths where others might see it and follow the direction toward his training sessions. When he was ready to demonstrate the songs, curious travelers would know where to find him. Thornwick tucked the marker under his arm and headed back toward Rayormy's Den. The world was showing him the way forward, piece by piece.

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.