Herb preserving turned out to be far more work than Lydia had expected.

  At first, she’d assumed it was just a matter of drying plants and putting them away neatly. Instead, Maera showed her half a dozen different methods before noon alone. Hanging bundles upside down in precise intervals. Laying leaves flat between weighted boards. Crushing roots into paste before sealing them in oil.

  Lydia stopped every so often to jot notes into her notebook, her handwriting growing messier as the day went on.

  What surprised her most was how much the process mattered. Depending on how an herb was dried—or if it was dried at all—its effects could change entirely. One leaf could soothe a fever when air-dried, yet cause nausea if exposed to direct heat. Another lost its potency within hours unless pressed immediately.

  “It’s not the plant alone,” Maera said at one point, not looking up from her work. “It’s how you treat it.”

  That stuck with Lydia.

  Maera wasn’t particularly talkative through the lesson. She explained what was necessary, corrected Lydia when she made mistakes, and otherwise worked in quiet efficiency. At first, Lydia worried she’d done something wrong. But as the hours passed, she realized this was simply how Maera was.

  A hermit, Lydia decided.

  Not unlike herself.

  The thought made her smile faintly. She didn’t dislike the silence. In fact, she found it comforting. There was no pressure to fill the air, no expectation of clever conversation. Just shared space and steady hands.

  By the time evening settled in, Lydia’s arms ached and her head buzzed with new information—but it was a good kind of tired. The kind that came from learning something real.

  The next morning arrived quietly.

  Maera handed Lydia her satchel and nodded toward the forest without ceremony. “Go. Refresh what you’ve learned.”

  Hest was already waiting by the door, tail swishing expectantly.

  As Lydia stepped beneath the trees, she realized something had changed. The forest no longer felt vast and unknowable. Landmarks stood out now—a twisted root here, a pale-barked tree there. Paths she’d walked before felt familiar under her feet.

  She wasn’t the outdoorsy type back home. She’d avoided bugs, dirt, and anything that required more effort than walking to class.

  But this?

  This, she thought, adjusting her satchel as Hest trotted ahead…

  this I could get used to.

  The Wyrdwood no longer felt like a place she’d been dropped into.

  It felt like somewhere she belonged—at least a little.

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  Lydia found herself talking aloud without realizing it.

  “Okay… that one’s feverleaf,” she murmured, crouching beside a cluster of pale green leaves. She flipped open Maera’s book, comparing the illustration carefully. “Serrated edges, faint silver veins… yeah. That’s you.”

  She glanced up as Hest let out a soft chirp from atop a nearby rock.

  She smiled. “You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you?”

  Hest flicked his tail, clearly pleased with the assessment, and hopped down to trot ahead. Lydia followed, stopping every so often to kneel, compare, and double-check. It was oddly satisfying, matching what she saw in the forest to the pages she’d studied the night before. Like proof that she was actually learning something. That this wasn’t all just pretending.

  As she gathered a few herbs she recognized, carefully tying them together the way Maera had shown her, she noticed Hest beginning to pace.

  Back and forth.

  Pause.

  A glance over his shoulder.

  Then back again.

  “Hey… what’s gotten into you?” Lydia asked lightly.

  Hest nudged her calf with his head, then paced again, ears twitching. Something about his behavior felt off—subtle, but persistent. Lydia hesitated, the thought brushing against her mind like a warning she didn’t quite want to acknowledge.

  I’m probably imagining it, she decided. The forest had a way of making everything feel important.

  She straightened and adjusted her satchel. “You want to head back?”

  Hest answered by pressing against her leg and letting out a low, steady purr.

  Lydia exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. “Yeah… probably a good idea.”

  Still, as they turned toward home, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest had gone just a little quieter behind them.

  Lydia reached the cabin just as the sun climbed high overhead. Judging by its position, it was probably around noon.

  She barely had time to think about it before the door burst open.

  Two men rushed past her—broad-shouldered, armed, dressed in leathers stained with dirt and dried blood. Hunters. Or soldiers. Maybe both. Their boots thudded hard against the ground as they disappeared down the path without sparing her a glance.

  Lydia froze.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, every instinct screaming at once. Strangers. Alone. Unexpected. Her mind immediately spiraled into worst-case scenarios.

  What if they talk to me?

  What if they ask questions?

  What if I say the wrong thing?

  By the time she remembered how to breathe, the men were already gone.

  She exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging in relief.

  “I wouldn’t be so glad if I were you,” Maera’s voice said from behind her.

  Lydia startled, spinning around. Maera stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Lydia wondered if her mentor had seen the brief moment of panic—how her hands had curled inward, how she’d gone stiff as a startled animal.

  “Why is that?” Lydia asked carefully.

  “A bewitched bear was spotted,” Maera said.

  She paused deliberately, watching Lydia’s face as if weighing something.

  “Use your brain and figure it out, child,” she added, waving Lydia inside.

  Lydia hesitated only a second before following, her gaze flicking instinctively toward the tree line.

  “Does… does it have to do with mana evolution?” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

  Maera snorted. “Spot on. That’s what we call creatures that adapt too far. When mana stops shaping and starts warping.”

  “Monsters,” Lydia whispered.

  She cast another glance toward the forest before stepping fully into the cabin, closing the door behind her. The Wyrdwood suddenly felt different—less like a place of quiet wonder and more like something that was merely waiting.

  She swallowed.

  Until now, the dangers had felt distant. Poisonous plants. Strange creatures. Things she could reason through. But a bear—an evolved bear—was something else entirely.

  Maera watched her for a moment, then chuckled softly.

  “Ain’t nothing to worry about, child,” she said. “You may be smart, but Hest is smarter.”

  As if summoned by his name, Hest appeared at Lydia’s feet, tail high and eyes alert.

  Lydia crouched and buried her fingers in his fur, grounding herself in the warmth.

  “…That’s comforting,” she said quietly.

  Maera’s smile softened—just a little.