Then the earth beneath her hands grew warm—not hot, but vital. The warmth of living things growing, of roots reaching deep, of something ancient and aware paying attention.
The Root of Renewal sprouted.
Not slowly. Not gradually. In the span of three heartbeats, it pushed through the soil Marron had just covered it with, golden stem emerging and rising toward the sun. Leaves unfurled. The white bloom opened fully, glowing bright enough to see even in daylight.
And then it spoke.
Not in words. Not in voice. But in sensation, in impression, in knowledge that bypassed language entirely and went straight to understanding:
She hears. She comes. Hold steady.
Marron's breath caught.
"She's coming," she whispered.
Mokko crouched beside her. "Who? The Champion?"
"Yes." Marron pulled her hands back from the earth, staring at the fully-grown Root of Renewal that definitely hadn't been that size three minutes ago. "I don't know how long it'll take, but she's coming."
