Nia concentrates everything she has into both of her palms, directing it at the four Garm pups lying weakly inside the alcove. White-greenish light radiates from her hands and illuminates the entire chamber; the small fireflies are nowhere to be seen.
"Hmmmmmmmmm…" She is clearly having difficulty.
The Snow White Garm pup that came with them sits beside them, eyes full of concern for the fate of his littermates.
"How is it?" Sol crouches next to her. He still doesn't understand how Nia's powers work, but it's not important right now.
Nia opens her eyes, still looking at the pups. "I don't think it's enough."
"The healing?" Sol studies the pups. Their chests heave, and their noses and lips are discolored.
"Yes. I've done a couple of restorations today, once for you and once for Wanwan." A bead of sweat drips from Nia's forehead. Her face looks a bit tired.
"Wanwan?"
"Yes." The Garm pup beside them lolls his tongue, smiling. "Doggy."
Calling it a pup is not actually correct, as its size can easily rival an adult direwolf, but Sol just doesn't know how to address it correctly.
"You… gave it a name?" Sol looks at the smiling dog. It wags its tail slowly.
"Why not?"
Sol doesn't know how to answer that. There's nothing wrong with what she did, but giving a name to a beast implies ownership. In Geherrim culture, only the owner of something can bestow a name on it.
"So you now own the Garm pup?"
"Um, what do you mean?"
Wanwan looks at him, head tilted sideways, confused. Sol watches him and realizes that perhaps that might not be the case.
Can a Garm understand our speech? It does seem like this one understands us.
There are no signs of the pup rejecting the name. He just sits there, happy that there are still those who want to help his littermates. He looks at Sol, still crouched next to Nia, then walks up to him. He nuzzles him a bit and gives him a small lick on the right cheek.
"Ow, you've got a rough tongue." Sol's cheek reddens from the lick. It's coarse but not that painful.
So I guess he doesn't really see himself as being owned…?
"He likes you very much." Nia smiles. The light in her palms starts to dim. She's exhausted.
Sol wants to tell her to take a small break. Healing a Geherrim from a fatal wound and then healing a Garm pup from a deadly poison can't be easy, and now she still has to attempt healing four more pups. He doesn't have the heart to stop her. Nia seems to want this.
So he continues the conversation.
"You said that before too. Did he say that to you or something? How do you understand animals anyway?"
Nia thinks for a moment, her palms still open and directed toward Wanwan's littermates. The light grows even dimmer. "Yes, I do know how to understand them, but it's not like how I understand you or the other priestesses in my temple."
She stops her restoration attempt and rests both arms. Sol notices that both of her palms are wounded, as if she has been scraping them on sharp limestone. Her breathing is labored, her forehead drenched with sweat, and her emerald eyes have lost their glow.
She blows on her palms. She is definitely feeling discomfort.
"It's more of an understanding," she continues. "I don't really know what he says. It's like the good feeling you get from the sound of a wind chime, or when blades of grass touch each other in the summer. Or a bad feeling when things get too silent, or a flash of lightning without thunder."
So it's her intuition, then? He looks at her palms again. He has to do something about that.
Sol tries to find bandages in his pouch. He can't. He rips a piece of his shirt and walks toward the underground lake. "Hmm, so it's more of a feeling."
Is it closer to Hunter's Intuition than magic? Sol processes the information. A Hunter's Intuition is nothing to scoff at. Years of experience in the wilderness will sharpen one's understanding dramatically, improving their chance of survival.
This understanding can vary. For some, it manifests as the ability to see weaknesses on a creature's body. For others, it manifests as an instinct for finding the shortest path to safety. Sol doesn't think he has one.
He reaches the underground lake, water still rippling from the force of the intake from the waterfall. Closer to the lake's edge, the rock gives way to a silken bed of silt and fine sand.
He dips the fabric into the lake. It's cold, but the water feels clean and rejuvenating. He can feel a little of his fatigue lift. He might want to drink some later.
He looks around. The dampness and ruggedness of the cavern's interior catch his attention for a couple of seconds. The sound of the waterfall far to his left creates a natural roar that ensures nothing can be heard from the outside. The acoustics also echo the waterfall, yet it is neither loud nor oppressive. He understands why this place was chosen as a nest for the Garms.
Light from the opening above gives the chamber a natural glow, keeping it from seeming as dark and oppressive as the deeper parts of the cave. A cold wind slips inside, snow drifting in.
Right next to the hole, at the ceiling of the alcove, Sol can see a bed of jutting crystals of an almost blue-white color, gleaming softly. He has seen a couple of these before: Lunoxenes, the moon crystals, Dobsy's dad said. They are tough and can be used as enhancement material for weapons, making them sharper and more durable. Their natural magical properties also allow a weapon to retain a magical edge, letting it absorb ambient particles for more power, more speed, or a new innate element.
Rahzar's weapon was coated with one of these stones. It gave the blade an extremely sharp edge, and the Lunoxene enhancement decreased the weapon's weight drastically. That's why Rahzar can wield that greatsword like it weighs nothing. With that weapon in hand, his massive strength is even scarier.
Sol wonders if he can get some Lunoxene, then a whimper from Wanwan's littermates distracts him.
"There, there. You will be fine." Nia stays beside them and tries to calm them down, but without her restoration, their pain does not seem to be getting better. Sol knows that he will have to find a better solution soon.
Focusing again, he sharpens his sense of smell. An earthy, damp, cold-stone scent permeates his nose. A faint metallic scent also lingers, almost like ozone. From what, he isn't sure. He looks toward the deer carcass rotting on the other side of the chamber near the entrance. It does not smell at all, which is odd.
A decomposing carcass should smell intensely. Even Sol knows this. This one looks more than a few days dead. The sickeningly sweet odor should cling to it. Yet this one smells of nothing. Perhaps that is why the Garms took a bite. He isn't sure whether that is the poison's work or something else.
Where did they even get this carcass? The Lowlands?
He stops to think, hands still submerged in the cold water of the lake.
Garms aren't supposed to go this high in the mountains. They are guardians of the Lowlands. They don't go up. Ever. Something must have happened down below.
He has also never heard of Snow White Garms. The Garms he knows have jet-black fur, ruby-like eyes, and fangs as sharp as steel, swift as the wind. They move silently through the forest, stalking. If one follows you in the Lowlands, you are almost certainly dead. Fortunately, Garms don't really like to eat Geherrim. They will hurt them, though.
Does that mean these Snow White Garms are the ones who live above the mountain? He isn't sure, and he won't find an answer soon, so he lets the thought go.
A shadow dims the light from the hole above the lake.
Huh? What was that? A bird flying past?
He walks back toward Nia, wet fabric in hand. He wrings the excess water, leaving it damp and cool. Sol takes both of Nia's arms in his left hand and wraps them in the cloth.
Nia looks at him, confused. "Why?"
"It looked painful."
She doesn't answer, but she leaves the fabric there for a moment, grateful, and continues, "Yes, it's more of a feeling. Not only animals say things to you. Trees, grasses, flowers, even the limestone and the crystals jutting from the ceiling are saying things to us all the time. They communicate to us as they breathe."
Nia glances at the Garm and continues. "And his name is Wanwan."
"You were taught to understand this? By your teachers? Other priestesses?"
More importantly, did the Garm choose the name himself? Sol wants to ask, but it feels like a dumb question, so he refrains.
"Um, no."
Sol scratches his head. All of this is new to him. He has heard of the maegi before, a kind of human sorcerer who knows how to exist together with nature, understanding it, living in harmony with it, even achieving a sense of unity with it. Some can even transform into other animals at will. Through this inherent connection with nature, a maegi's intuition is usually sharper than others.
According to the chief's story, the first maegi also taught the first Geherrim how to adapt to this new world, so they weren't scary at all.
Some of the other maegi, however, together with the sorcerers, saw the Geherrim as enemies. Another war broke out right after the Geherrim moved to this continent, more bloodshed.
The Seven Lords put a stop to that conflict. Sol doesn't know how; he never listened to that part of the chief's story. What he knows is that the maegi are almost gone. Even if they still exist, their numbers have dwindled past recovery.
Now the maegi are treated as omens of catastrophe. There aren't many left. The Seven Lords may have defeated them, perhaps sealed them somewhere, but if someone sees them, a massive cataclysm will surely follow.
Sol looks at Nia again.
She doesn't seem like a maegi.
Nia blows on both palms. The wind hits the damp cloth, and the cooling sensation soothes her. She gathers herself again. She removes the cloth and sets it on the pockmarked stone floor that feels more like a field of frozen coral than solid ground. She extends her hands, palms out, and concentrates again, attempting to heal the Garm's littermates.
A priestess, huh.
"What was it that you asked? Do I own Wanwan?"
Sol looks at Wanwan again and sees him sitting there, trying to be as stoic as possible for his littermates.
"I guess it's not a big deal. As long as he likes the name, I think it's fine."
Sol sits beside her, trying to be as helpful as possible, though he knows he won't be much help. A drop of water wets his left shoulder.
Huh, that's weird. There were no drops from the ceiling before.
Sol looks toward his left shoulder; the drop of water seemed to be a little bit thicker than the usual water.
It's... thick?
His heart skipped a beat. This is not water.
Wanwan sniffs, looks at him, then looks up. Sol looks up at the same time.
A massive, pink, circular, gaping maw filled with leech-like teeth extends from a pale, elastic neck stretching down from the ceiling. Viscous saliva drips from the open mouth onto Sol's feet.
It's a Csezul.