1st 5 Pages January Workshop- Passerotti Rev 1

Name: Katie Passerotti
Genre: YA Fantasy
Title: Lost Souls

Mud splashed, sending rivulets of brown water dripping down Rook's
boots as she chased after her younger sister. Rook reached for
Mareah's arm, but her sister moved too quick and slipped away, weaving
through the trees, her echoing laugh all that remained.

Despite Rook's warning, her younger sister had taken off, forcing her
to give chase. Draghiar Forest was not the place for games and she
should have made more of an effort to stop her. But Mareah's laughter,
luminous and contagious, unfurled the bud of tension nestled in Rook's
heart and she welcomed the smile that stole across her lips.

Brambles snagged on Rook's clothes as she burst into a small clearing.
In ten strides she'd reached the massive Daelen tree that called the
meadow home. She pressed her palms against the rough bark and a
welcoming warmth prickled through her fingers. Sucking in a lungful of
crisp, fall air, she looked for Mareah.

"Where are you hiding?" Rook rolled her eyes. Mareah was always
playing jokes--a mischievous streak she'd inherited from their father.

She stepped back from the Daelan tree, her eyes sweeping the
surrounding forest. The dense rows of trees beyond the clearing were
nearly devoid of leaves, their branches scraping at the clouds like
skeletal fingers. Thick undergrowth filled the space between their
trunks, making it impossible to see deeper.

Worry stirred in Rook’s belly. The clearing was barely a kilometer
from the forest’s edge, but still farther than most dared to come.
She’d gone beyond the clearing only once. The memory of that mistake
shivered through her, leeching the warmth of the midday sun from her
skin. The creatures that inhabited the inner forest--imps, banshees,
dragons, and worse--were not to be taken lightly. They were dangerous.

Deadly. And Mareah knew better than to go past the Daelan tree.

"Mareah!" The name echoed back and unease skittered along Rook's
spine. She let her hand trail over the Daelan tree as she paced around
its trunk.

The tree was massive. Its bark, a mottled grey and black, twisted
together to create irregular ridges and more knotholes than she could
count. Unlike the rest of the trees, it hummed with energy. Pale blue
buds unfurled along its branches, brought to life by the autumn sun.
While the rest of the forest drifted into its winter slumber, Daelan
trees bloomed.

Reaching the other side, Rook's hand dropped to her hip, fighting the
misgiving prickling at her heart. "Mareah," Rook’s voice caught on the
last syllable. She shouldn’t have given in to her sister’s pleas to
come along on her foraging trip; their mother never would have given
permission. "We don't have time to play games. If you don't show
yourself--"

A hand grabbed her shoulder and Rook screamed. She whirled to find
Mareah doubled over behind her, trying to subdue her fit of laughter.

"You never thought to look up," she managed between giggles and
pointed into the branches.

Rook crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, her gaze flicking from
Mareah to the Daelan Tree. "You cheated."

The wind shifted, sending a flurry of petals spiraling through the
air. They whispered against her skin like an apology. Rook turned her
stern look to Mareah. "You promised to behave if I let you come. The
forest is dangerous, there are creatures--"

"I know," Mareah interrupted, her expression suddenly too serious for
a ten year old. She worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I'm sorry."

Rook shook her head, her irritation fading. When had her little sister
started to grow up? "Don't leave the clearing. Stay where I can see
you."

Mareah grinned, grey eyes sparkling, and took off, her arms
outstretched, raven hair flying behind her. Rook turned her attention
back to the tree. She drew a pair of thick leather gloves from her
satchel and pulled on the right glove, but not the left. Stepping
closer to the tree, she ran her bare fingers lightly over the trunk,
searching for a place to harvest its sap.

This was the only Daelen tree Rook knew of. If there were more, they
were deeper in the forest, inaccessible and guarded by whatever dark
creatures dwelled there. A sharp pain sliced through her thumb and
Rook jerked her hand away. A thorn jutted from the tree, a bright drop
of crimson trembling on its tip.

Odd. In all her years collecting sap, she'd never encountered a thorn.
She brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked at the small wound.

"Where did the thorn come from?" she murmured, pressing her hand to
the bark once more. The Daelan Tree didn't answer and Rook sighed.
Warmth pulsed beneath her fingers and the question was forgotten.

She marked the spot with her nail and pulled on the other glove. Raw,
the sap would turn her skin red and leave blisters that would take
weeks to heal. It wasn't safe to handle until she'd refined it. After
that, it became a potent remedy and the apothecary gave her a healthy
cut of the profit from its sale. Money she and sister desperately
needed.


Rook drew the knife from her belt. Sunlight flashed off the polished
blade. It was shaped like a hawthorn leaf, wide and round at the
bottom before tapering to a fine point. She drove the tip into the
pulp of the tree. Rich amber bubbled from the wound and she deftly
replaced the knife with a small tube attached to a glass vial. The
golden liquid moved slowly, its sweet aroma reminding her of honey and
sunflowers.

Rook sank to the ground, pulling her gloves off as she settled amongst
the tree's massive roots. She hummed quietly, watching Mareah collect
snakeroot and hummingbird blossoms. When her hands were full, her
sister bounded over and dropped the plants between them. Plopping down
next to Rook, she began to weave them into a crown.

Words gathered on Rook's tongue. It had been two months since they’d
last heard from their mother. Two months where Rook's meager earnings
from the apothecary had barely been enough to feed Mareah. That she'd
taken to begging scraps from her friend, Bettina, who worked at one of
the taverns in the city.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say them. If she said them, it would
mean they were real and something had happened to their mother and she
refused to believe that. The tree creaked and Rook tilted her head to
look up through its branches. Her gaze fell on the thorn and she
straightened.

A moth perched on its tip, its fragile wings bright scarlet with a
burst of blue around the edges. Laughter bubbled from her at the sight
of the creature cautiously unfurling its wings, testing them out as
though it had only just emerged from its cocoon. It drew a slender leg
to its mouth and flexed its fuzzy antennae.

"Mareah, look," she whispered. "A baby dragon."

Her sister's grey eyes flitted up and she giggled. The moth launched
itself from its perch and spiraled toward them. Rook lifted her hand
and the moth alighted on her fingers, tickling her skin as it explored
the surface.

"Is it really a dragon?" Mareah breathed, eyes wide as she leaned closer.

"Maybe?" Rook didn't have the heart to steal away her sister's wonder.
Mareah's favorite stories were about soulkin--pairings of humans and
creatures whose souls and magic complimented each other and forged an
unbreakable bond.