On rising, Danny did his best not to think about anything in particular, particularly nothing about families, or humans, or wolves, or being lost, or monsters, or shapeshifting, or…

There were a lot of things Danny didn't want to think about. If he did, he knew he'd start crying again. He didn't want to cry anymore. He suspected that if he cried enough, he'd start to feel the lack of salt and water, like how when he'd turned into a sheep and had Tucker cut off his wool, he'd started to feel hungry. He didn't want that.

Also, crying was gross, and made his eyes, nose, and throat hurt.

So. New resolution. No more crying. It wasn't productive.

He sniffled.

Leaves brushed consolingly against him as he traveled across branches in a form too close to human to be practical. Now he was reducing humanity to a matter of practicality. What was– No. No. He wasn't thinking about it, and he wasn't crying. He was dealing with this. He was coping. It wasn't like this was permanent.

Who was he kidding, exactly?

He sighed and laid down on the branch he was on, settling back into the cat he'd been yesterday and tucking his paws underneath him. Resting wasn't what he needed - he needed something to take his mind off of all of this - but he didn't want to walk off a branch (could he even do that, with the way he was now, with the very trees whispering to him and anchoring him?) or something equally stupid because he was distracted.

Before he did anything else, he had to get his thoughts in order. At least, he had to get them in order enough that he wasn't breaking down every ten minutes.

… Jazz used to do this with him. He wondered again if she'd even been told he was gone.

Not that he was actually gone.

Start with what was actually upsetting him. Not the whole, overall thing, because that was too big, and, if he could be the teeniest, tiniest bit honest with himself, he wasn't coping with it well at all. No. Start with this particular incident that had set him off.

He'd been called a monster.

Which… wasn't entirely untrue. He was, as he was more or less continuously reminded, a creature of the woods, and, strangely, he didn't hate it. His ruin-home was comfortable, shapeshifting was cool, the touches on his mind were friendly.

He'd also had stuff thrown at him.

Words could hurt, but words backed with actions hurt more. Especially coming from people he'd rescued.

Rescued from wolf-things that were not wolves but something else entirely. Rescued… while looking quite a bit like a wolf himself.

That might have something to do with the name-calling and the stuff-throwing, if he thought about it. Still, he was allowed to be upset, wasn't he? He was.

This wasn't helping.

He massaged his aching head with his paws. Maybe he should give up on today. Try again tomorrow. Sleep. Put some additional distance between himself and the problem.

And lie awake turning over every little detail of the problem, and making up more problems while he was at it?

This worked much better when Jazz was doing it. Like this, he had to admit that all he'd done was talk himself in a circle.

Not that it was the first time he'd done that. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, nights got long and lonely. He'd been attacked by Sam's royal guard first thing after he'd been changed, and his parents had told him many, many stories about virtuous Rangers fighting horrid monsters.

(Especially after his cousin had gone missing, although as far as anyone could tell, Flynn's disappearance didn't have anything to do with monsters.)

It's just… maybe… he'd been hoping… After all, Sam and Tucker weren't afraid of him, and they were the people he'd been interacting with since then, so…

(It wasn't like he'd forgotten what he was.)

(But it had, perhaps, slipped his mind for a moment.)

Speaking of Sam and Tucker, he had a job to do.

(Or, not a job, but a favor, and not the one he'd really assigned himself, either, but who was keeping score? Not him.)

(Besides, it did feel like it was his job, somehow. Like it was something he was supposed to be doing.)

He stood up, arching his back, and stretched very deliberately before shaking himself all over. Enough. It was enough. Enough rest. He'd only been up for an hour, anyway.

The grain. He was looking for the grain, and whatever might have taken it. He would focus on that. And on staying on the branches. He wasn't in the mood for losing control of his body today.

The rest of the morning was quiet, with no more mental breakdowns and no humans popping out of the undergrowth to yell at him. Just birds, squirrels, and mice. All of which seemed remarkably calm around Danny, considering that he currently had the appearance of a sizable forest cat.

But maybe that was it. He had the appearance of a forest cat, but he wasn't actually a forest cat, was he? He was… well, he didn't know and he wasn't thinking about it.

As the sun grew higher in the sky, however, he started to feel… something. It wasn't that tug he'd felt before he'd run to the aid of those merchants, but it was similar. Gentler, less urgent, but similar.

He adjusted his path to follow the pull.

Honestly, following strange feelings around probably wasn't the best of ideas, especially given his status of 'extremely cursed.' It'd bother him, though, if he didn't.

This part of the woods felt newer, the trees younger. He didn't quite know how that could be. They seemed to be about the same width and height, and his relatively untrained eye couldn't pick out any differences in bark, or root. He didn't think that this was just coming from his contact with the trees, although it may have been.

Something to do with the scent, maybe? Or the color of the leaves? Sounds?

He tilted his head, listening to birdsong, and the shifting rustle of the leaves in the faint breeze. There might have been something missing there, but he couldn't put his finger (or paw, for that matter) on it.

Maybe it was younger, though. Maybe this had been a farmer's field, left to grow over, and that was what he was picking up on. Maybe there was just ever so slightly more new growth. As it was, though, everything looked approximately the same as where he'd explored before, from the tops of the trees to–

He paused as his eyes swept over the forest floor. There was no deadfall here. No rotting tree trunks. No wilting, dying vines, or sprouts chewed through by bugs before their time.

Huh.

While he didn't think it was impossible for a section of forest to be like this naturally, it was very strange. Maybe a woodcutter lived nearby, and tended the deadfall and the underbrush? Kept things neat for themself and their family? Could that be the source of the pull he was feeling?

If it was… he didn't have to show himself. He could stay as something small, something normal to find in the woods. Just… make sure that it wasn't because someone was in danger. That's all.

He kept going, then froze, as he heard voices. He pressed himself flat to the the branch, claws dug in, eyes wide. The voices were getting closer. And more familiar.

He bounced up, and raced through the treetops before coming to a loud rustling stop over his targets, who–

–Who had crossbows.

"Sam! Tucker!" he said, narrowly dodging a projectile. "Don't shoot! It's me!"

"Danny?" said Tucker, who hadn't gotten his crossbow into position to fire yet. "What are you doing here? How did you even get here?"

Danny stuck his head down, past the lowest branches. "Uh, I live here, now, remember?"

"No you don't," said Sam. "Not here."

"Well, yeah," said Danny. "But you don't actually expect me to stay in one place all the time, do you? That'd be boring." And way too prone to introspection (and crying) of the type he'd been trying to avoid all day. But he wasn't thinking about that.

Sam squinted at him. Or was it more of a glare?

"Say something only you'd know," she demanded.

"Uh," said Danny. "Why?"

"I want to make sure you're our weird shapeshifter, and not some other weird shapeshifter."

Okay. That made some sense, even if Danny didn't understand why she wanted to do this now, rather than all the other times they'd met up since his transformation. "But would something only I knew really help? I mean, if only I knew it, wouldn't you not know it? So how would you know it's something only I knew, instead of just something you don't know?"

"He's got you there," said Tucker, who still wasn't aiming his crossbow at Danny.

"Fine. Fine. Something only the three of us know."

"Um," said Danny, "behind the door you had me look at, there was a tree with red fruit on it, and none of us knew what they were?"

Sam sighed and her shoulders slumped. "It is you. Okay."

"I know you weren't expecting to see me," said Danny, who was now far enough past his surprise to start feeling hurt, "but, like, this was a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"You don't understand," said Sam. "You can't be here, it doesn't make sense. This is where the silos were, the ones that disappeared. It isn't connected."

Danny blinked. "Are you sure? Because I would've noticed if I could suddenly leave the woods. That would have been a big thing to me. Huge. Very noticeable. Especially the part where if I touch the ground, my body does horrible shapeshifting things."

"Yes. I am sure. Even if I hadn't inspected the place myself multiple times before this, the actual woods should be miles away, I've seen it on a…" she trailed off.

"On a map?" asked Danny, raising an eyebrow.

Sam inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled slowly. "Right. The woods were - are - unmappable. I just didn't think that applied to parts that weren't even touching."

"Should they even count as part of the woods if they aren't touching?" asked Tucker. "I mean, it looks like they do magically, but, like, definitionally?"

Danny hummed, thoughtfully. "I think one of my parents' books said that some people think that all magic woods are the same woods, but that it was a fringe theory, and it was probably just the Woods of Amity, Daire, Elmeria, Urn… You know, stuff that's nearby."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"That doesn't matter," said Sam, decisively. "What matters is that we're all here, and we can search together, after all. Although, knowing that this is connected to the actual woods, there's a lot more space to hide things."

"Yeah," said Danny, his mood lifting. "Yeah, we can search together. But… are you guys here alone?" Sam may have snuck into the woods to talk to him before, but that was substantially different than going out looking for trouble. She was a princess, she should at least have a bodyguard.

(Tucker didn't count.)

Both Sam and Tucker made faces.

"We were separated from my guard," Sam said, finally.

"Like, accidentally or…?"

"They were under orders to not let me near anything even remotely important. I couldn't investigate like that."

"I'm expecting my execution orders to arrive any day now," said Tucker.

"Oh, stop it. My father won't execute you over this. The worst he would do is exile you."

"Yeah, because being forced to go live in Elmeria is so much better than death," said Tucker, sarcastically.

"You can come live with me if you get exiled," offered Danny.

"Thanks, Danny, you're a real friend."

"If you two are quite done," said Sam, prim in a way only a princess could manage, "we have work to do. Danny, did you find anything?"

Danny opened his mouth to tell them that no, he hadn't, really, but closed it for a moment, contemplating. "Maybe. I've had this sort of feeling today, like the woods want me to go somewhere, like they're trying to show me something. Just a sort of pull."

"Really?" asked Sam. "Do you think that's safe?"

"Safe?"

"The woods did sort of curse you. And eat a bunch of grain silos."

Danny made a face. "I don't know that it's all the same thing doing everything. And the trees are helpful. Also, um." He hadn't intended to tell them this, but if it helped them understand… "Yesterday, I got something similar, and it took me to where this family was getting attacked by wolves, and I fought them off."

"Attacked by wolves? Did any of them bite you? There are so many diseases–"

"Not really," interrupted Danny, before Sam could list any of the diseases, all of which were, he was sure, horrible and disgusting. He didn't think Tucker could take it. He'd always been squeamish about things like that. "I think I'd have started feeling nasty by now, anyway, if I'd caught anything."

"There are things that take a longer time," said Sam, "and as we were only just talking about magic, I wouldn't rule anything out."

"Were the wolves magic?" asked Tucker, with a touch of skepticism.

"Sort of? I think? They didn't feel like normal wolves, anyway, but they didn't do anything especially weird. Except they were sort of green. I don't know."

"Can you show us?" asked Sam. "You know, with your shapeshifting."

"Um, maybe. There's not really a good place for me to stand. Wolves aren't good at trees. The point is, maybe the woods are trying to help by showing us something. About the silos, I mean."

"That seems… convenient," said Tucker.

"It isn't like we have any other leads," said Sam, "and we can always run." She cranked back her crossbow and slotted in a new bolt.

Danny felt his nails prick into claws. "I could also go check it out by myself…"

"Don't be ridiculous. Now that we're together, of course we're coming with you. It would be foolish not to."

"Yeah," said Tucker, "I mean, if anything bad does happen, you can turn into a bear at it."

"I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure that something that can move grain silos around like that isn't going to be scared of a bear."

Neither Sam nor Tucker had any reply for that.

"You are certain the woods aren't misleading you?" Sam asked.

"Well, no. But it doesn't feel like they are. And I was able to help those people, with the wolves." He shrugged. He didn't think they'd get certainty of any kind anytime soon. And if they did, they should be suspicious of it.

Sam sighed. "It's still our best lead. I'm going to go with you."

"And if she's going, I'm going," said Tucker. "You see what you're missing? Dragged around by a pushy princess all day… And she doesn't even eat meat!"

Danny tilted his head, confused by the sudden change of subject. "What?"

"Like I have tried to explain to Tucker," she said, "my mother is from Iieda. She's Iiedish. We both bow to the Iiedish gods. And one of the rules of the Iiedish gods is that you can't eat an animal unless you kill it yourself, or it's been sacrificed by an Iiedish priest, in strict accord with recorded law." She punctuated each sentence forcefully, rhythmically, as if reciting something by rote. "The priest that came with my mother when she got married died when I was five. It's easier, and less wasteful, to just not eat meat than to have it shipped from the nearest proper temple."

"But," said Tucker, with the air of someone who had already had this argument several times, "they're the same gods."

"That doesn't matter," said Sam. "What matters is that they told my ancestors to worship them that way, so that's the way I'm going to do it. You can worship them the way they told your ancestors to do it. It's not like my not eating meat is hurting you."

"It's not about it hurting me, I just don't get it. I don't get how anyone could just choose not to eat meat."

Sam scoffed. "And he wants to be a monk."

"Again, that's because that's where all the books are."

"Does… does any of this…matter right now?" asked Danny.

"No," said Tucker.

"Lead the way," said Sam. "Please."

.

The trees got denser and thicker as they went further in, but Danny's earlier sense that this was all new didn't abate. Which made sense. According to Sam and Tucker, this was all new. Grown literally overnight in place of the grain silos. It was just such a strange thing to think of, even stranger than his own transformation. Danny was only one person, after all, a single entity. Small and brief, in the reckoning of the world. A place like this should have more inertia.

It was making him nervous, and even with his body warped into something catlike and hidden by the lower branches of the trees, he knew Sam and Tucker were picking up on it, too. He could tell by the low-grade bickering.

Speaking of which, when had they gotten comfortable enough with one another to bicker like that? It should be weird. Sam was, after all, a princess. But it wasn't. It felt normal. Comfortable. The anger more performance than real.

But then, Danny had no room to talk about things being weird. Here he was, climbing along tree branches with claws, trying to find something that had stolen entire buildings by following an ambiguous mental pull that may or may not be something sent to him by the Woods of Amity themselves. Obviously, this wasn't a normal situation at all.

The branches around him rustled. He froze. The wind wasn't blowing that way.

"Wait," he said, quietly, and Sam and Tucker stopped. "I think we're close."

"I think you're right," said Sam. "There's some kind of clearing up ahead, and… do you smell that?"

Danny inhaled deeply, slowly. Rich earth and new decay. Sharp pine sap and sweet maple. Sam and Tucker. The bitter, almost spicy odor of the vines Sam and Tucker had stepped on earlier. Dust. The birds contemplating nesting nearby. The faint smell of himself. Sunlight, hot and steady, on freshly-grown grass. Cooking grain. Greenness. Yes, he could smell that. All of that.

"I should scout ahead–"

"Not a chance," said Sam. "We both remember what happened last time you went somewhere without us."

"I didn't really go without you–"

"You kind of did."

"You don't know what's here," protested Danny. "I can run away way faster than you can."

The trees swayed, overhead branches parting, letting the sunlight through. Where the sunlight struck, new sprouts of grass pushed their way up from the packed and mossy dirt.

Danny clung to his branch momentarily, then jumped to the ground, near Sam and Tucker, hoping to put himself in-between them and whatever this was.

"I should hope," said a low, feminine voice that rustled like wind blowing through wheat, "that you should not have to run at all, child."

In the sunlight, where the trees bent away into a clearing, stood the form of an older, almost grandmotherly woman. The form, only, because what stood there had less claim to being called flesh and blood than Danny did. She appeared to be woven, clothes and all, from grass, most of it fresh and green, but some strands dried to almost tan shades. Her dress was a vivid gradient of near-blues to deepest viridian edged with purple, flowering heads gathered at the hem as a ruff. She wore a dry, buff coat of straw over it, belted at the waist with long, braided stalks. Her hair was grain of a dozen varieties, colors, and ripenesses, layered and braided over itself. Her face and hands were made of fibers of grass so fine that Danny could barely pick out the individual strands. The only deviance from the rule were her eyes, which were not grass but two brilliant points of yellow light.

From a distance, and immobile, and without those eyes, she would have been an impressive simulacra. As it was… In this context…

She didn't feel out of place, exactly. It wasn't wrong that she was here. But she was foreign to this place, and she was dangerous in ways even the whispers of the trees could not convey.

She moved forward, and Danny could not say if she stepped so much as she planted her feet amid the tall grass.

"I have been waiting for you, young Guardian," she said, looking directly at Danny. Her gaze moved to Sam, and her expression became markedly more pinched. "And you as well."

Sam stepped forward, back straight, crossbow pointed carefully down and to one side. Danny could tell that she and Tucker could sense the threat this being represented, even without any connection to the woods. "You expected us?" she asked. She licked her lips. "You have something to do with the disappearance of the grain silos, then?"

"And if I have, what would you say, then, princess of the land?"

"I would ask why, and I would… I would be willing to negotiate for its return."

"Such negotiations may prove unsuccessful."

Sam's grip on the crossbow tightened. "There are always alternatives when negotiations fail."

The woven woman turned her attention back to Danny. "Guardian, I call upon you for your service as arbitrator and representative. A great transgression has been made against me and thee, and it must be addressed, lest this, my new home, meet the same fate as my last."

A tingling sensation swept over Danny's skin, and he was shifted into a more humanoid form, although he noted with some discomfort that his hair had turned as green as the grass growing around them.

Around him, in him, through him… The pull on him was strong, steady. He was urged to respond, to agree, but… "I don't understand," he said, instead. "I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm not…" But he couldn't deny that he hadn't even blinked when she called him a Guardian the first time. The title fit him.

Somehow.

He didn't really feel like he'd been guarding anything, though. But maybe he should be? Was that part of his whole thing? Part of this curse?

The expression on the grass woman's face loosened slightly. "You are young, aren't you?"

Danny wasn't sure if that was a question he was supposed to answer, so he stayed silent.

A wind rippled the grass in a sigh, making the trees to either side creak uneasily. They did not like this. They were not made to bend this way, not like grass, or reeds. Danny wanted to yell at the woman to stop it, but he wasn't even sure it was her.

"You were called here, were you not? Did these Woods not whisper to you my need?"

Most people called the woods the woods, but Danny could hear the slight emphasis in her tone. The Woods. The Woods.

"Danny," said Tucker, voice low and tight with tension.

"I… guess so."

"Then I ask again. Guardian, will you aid me as representative and arbitrator in these negotiations?"

"I won't help you hurt anyone," said Danny, despite another pulse of need, another urge to just say yes.

"I have raised no hand against another."

"The trees," said Danny. They were stressed, bending against their roots.

"A momentary discomfort. I am well aware of the limits of my environment, Guardian."

"And– and these are my friends. I'm not going to go against them."

"That is not what I have asked," snapped the grass woman. "You are the only Guardian who came to my call. I will accept your biases. I ask you a third time. Will you mediate our negotiations?"

"Yes," said Danny, finally giving into the call. Three times was just too much. He glanced at Sam and Tucker. "I will."

The grass woman moved backwards the same way she moved forward. "Then come. We have much to speak about."