Chapter 28: Eyes of the Forest
Samantha loosened her grip on Nimbus, allowing the dog to trot back toward his doghouse with a final, disgruntled snort in Asher's direction.
She crossed her arms and studied him, her gaze as sharp as the blade resting on the chopping block beside her.
"You've got a wonderful fire in you, kid," she said, her tone even but firm.
She pointed the axe handle at him, the smirk growing just enough to seem challenging.
"If you're serious about learning, be here at ten sharp tomorrow. No excuses. And don't show up looking like a scared rabbit—I'm not here to hold your hand."
Asher blinked, caught off guard by the sudden declaration. "What if I—"
"You're late, you're out," she interrupted briskly, raising an eyebrow. "And if you're thinking about skipping, let me save you the trouble: I'll drag you out of bed myself if I have to."
His protests caught in his throat, but her no-nonsense delivery left no room for negotiation—he couldn't even muster an argument.
After a beat, he nodded, a nervous grin spreading across his face despite the knot forming in his stomach. "I'll be here."
"You'd better be." Samantha turned her attention back to her chopping block, hefting the axe with practiced ease. "Now get moving. You've got a lot of thinking to do before tomorrow."
With that, the conversation ended. Samantha's focus shifted entirely to splitting the next log, leaving Asher standing there, half-excited, half-terrified at what he was about to face.
(Three Asterisks)
Asher stumbled over a protruding root, clutching a small knife and single glove. Sweat stung his eyes, and his legs ached from the trek. Samantha's instructions echoed in his mind:
"Find what you need. Use what you have."
He hadn't expected 'training' to mean being dumped in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a knife and a deadline.
"I tried to protest," Asher muttered under his breath, his feet dragging as he trudged through the soon to bloom underbrush. "I really did."
He could still hear Otto's voice in his head, pleading on his behalf as if it might make a difference. "You can't just leave him out there, Samantha! What about my meals? Think about how sad Kaspar will be!"
But that all changed when Samantha handed Otto a bag of freshly butchered jerky and a bottle of wine.
The moment he'd seen those, Otto's complaints vanished like smoke in the wind. The old man didn't hesitate, practically skipping away with a wave of his hand. "Best of luck, kid!"
Asher shook his head, still baffled at how easily Otto had abandoned him. Then there was the part he'd never live down. The sack over his head.
He grimaced as the memory surfaced. When she'd grabbed him by the collar and slipped the cloth over his face, he'd tried to argue, tried to push against her grip, but her strength was like a mountain. She'd lifted him up onto her shoulders without breaking a sweat, and he hadn't had the slightest hope of escaping.
"You're not going to pull any tricks, kid," she'd said, her voice almost playful despite the firm grip she had on him. "The quicker you stop complaining, the quicker we can get this over with."
He could still remember the strange mix of helplessness and frustration as the world had gone dark under the sack.
Ten minutes—or maybe an hour—later, Asher found himself stumbling through the woods, the absence of Samantha pressing in around him like a weight he couldn't escape.
No tracks, no helpful parting words, just the chill of the breeze and a carving knife, small enough to be useless in a fight but perfect for sculpting wood.
Not that it would make much of a difference. The trees here weren't like the ones he knew; the wood of Kyrmsk had been artificially strengthened through selective breeding practices with the local dioecious species.
Even with a sturdy blade, it wouldn't be easy to carve, let alone break through the thick bark of them.
Worst of all, there's no strength-enhancing stick to help my frail constitution.
Without it, I'm barely a 10-strength commoner—completely out of my depth in a place like this.
She could have at least given me something to work with, some kind of edge.
Especially before dumping me in the middle of bumfuck nowhere for some inane reason.
…
What even was that again…
…
Oh yeah!
Something called a ginseng.
She hadn't exactly explained what it was, just a cryptic description that barely made sense and brought more questions than it answered:
"Look for a root, shaped like a person. The older, the better. You'll know it when you see it—because it'll see you first. Don't go thinking you can just grab it, either. It's got a mind of its own, and it's got some nasty claws."
Why did she have to make this so difficult?
He winced at the thought of his frailty, but then something shifted. He let out a long, slow breath and closed his eyes.
Samantha's gotta have her reasons.
She wouldn't just toss me into the wild without a plan.
She thinks I'm ready for this. And I—I have to believe that too. I've got to stop focusing on what I don't have and start thinking about what I do.
His eyes flicked open. He stopped looking at the wilderness with disdain, and instead, his gaze hardened with resolve. The trees stretched out ahead of him, not as obstacles, but as the way forward.
His body ached, sure, but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to let it stop him.
You can do this, he repeated quietly in his mind, the mantra grounding him in the moment.
You've made it this far. You'll make it further.
As soon as the calming thought took root another began to worm its way in.
The towering evergreens stretched above him, their branches casting long, dark shadows on the ground.
The forest wasn't entirely silent—birds called to each other, and the wind shifted the boughs above, but the ground beneath his feet seemed to absorb every sound. The earth was soft, just beginning to thaw, but the trees loomed, seemingly endless.
Asher's boots sank slightly into the newly spring thaw, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The forest felt full of hidden movement, even though he could see no signs of life around him. There were the faintest tremors in the ground, the soft rustling of dry pine needles underfoot, and the occasional snapping of a brittle branch.
It was becoming impossible to ignore the slow, creeping anxiety that threaded through his chest. He had grown up in a suburb, not a forest.
These trees didn't care about him. He wasn't a part of their world, and he didn't belong here.
Focus, he repeated under his breath, but the unsettling silence of the woods only made him feel smaller. His stomach churned as the wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and something… else. Something wild.
The ground beneath him shifted, the soft tremors sending a ripple of anxiety through his chest.
And then, suddenly—
A twig snapped behind him.
Asher froze. His heart skipped a beat. He spun around, eyes wide, searching the forest for any sign of movement.
It's just the wind. Just the wind... His brain tried to convince him, but his body was already reacting, flooding him with panic.
Bear. It's a bear. His thoughts screamed it, his mind flashing back to the past. The terror, the helplessness.
Don't run. Don't make noise. Stay still. Think.
But his heart was hammering in his chest, and all his instincts screamed to run, to escape, to get away from whatever invisible predator was stalking him. His breath came faster, his muscles coiled, ready to spring at the slightest sound.
Another twig snapped.
Closer this time.
He took a step back, eyes darting wildly, searching for any sign of movement. The forest seemed to close in around him.
The trees felt suffocating, pressing in from every side, the shadows now a maze that led only to unknown danger.
But there was nothing there. Just the wind. Just the forest. Just him.