The sun crept over Maranaqua's serrated peaks, its faint, ghostly rays cutting through the thick, clinging fog that clung to the twisted, knotted trees, whose blackened branches reached out like skeletal fingers into the gray, pallid sky. Ava, Carl, and Anna struggled through the wet, heavy underbrush, gasping hard, shallowly for air, their reedy, vibrating bodies shaking, their brains a tangled, crazed web of fatigue and fear.
They slept under a grand, old tree, its massive, knotted trunk wracked and bent, its black, convoluted roots digging deeply into black, dead earth, its heavy, knotted branches swaying and groaning in the cold, biting wind. They leaned back on the twisted, scabbed bark, their breathing shallow, paced gasps, their minds a convoluted, tangled web of exhaustion and relief.
"It's been. a long time since I've seen the sun," Carl grumbled, his thin, shaking voice a raspy, low whistling, his thin, shaking fingers tracing the distorted, gnarled bark of the tree, his breathing short, shallow gasps, his mind a distorted, knotted web of nostalgia and regret.
"I miss the days when the world wasn't so twisted," Ava panted, her bony, trembling fingers tracing the rough, cracked leather of her armor, her green, piercing eyes flicking to the twisted, knotted branches above, her mind a twisted, knotted web of longing and loss.
Anna, her white, slender, shaking body curled around the twisted, curved roots of the tree, her dark, thick hair hanging in wet, curled clumps down her white, slender face, her green, sharp eyes flinging to the twisted, curved limbs above her, her head a twisted, tangled hotchpotch of grief and guilt, she breathed, "I couldn't save them. I tried to, but I couldn't."
Before they might speak once more, the tree below them shook, its twisted, knotted trunk creaking and groaning, its curly, thick roots twisting and curling, its curved, dark branches reaching and bending. A spinning, wispy cloud of dust rose from the charred, dead earth, spinning, twisting around them, its wispy, ghostly tips brushing against their thin, trembling arms, their panting for air in short, shallow gasps, their minds a twisted, knotted skein of horror and confusion.
From the whirl of dust that danced and swirled, she came forth, her thin, delicate body dressed in her glittering, petal-hued gown, her dark, silky hair streaming out behind her like a splash of dark stain, her bright green eyes flashing to their waif-like, quivering forms, her quivering, ash-pale lips opening in a low, breathed whisper.
"Why are you here?" she panted, her spindly, trembling voice a gentle, singing sigh, her spindly, trembling fingers tracing the curved, silky edges of the flower in her hand, her breathing slow, tentative gasps, her mind a tangled, knotted mass of question and concern.
Carl, his thin, shaking arms, his lungs gasping in short, harsh breaths, his brain a jumbled, muddled mixture of terror and wonder, stuttered, "W-we're. we're moving. Trying to get to a safe place."
The thin, trembling form of the figure came near, her sharp, green eyes flashing to their thin, trembling forms, her thin, trembling lips opening in a low, breathed whisper. She extended a hand, her thin, trembling fingers touching Carl's thin, trembling arm, her breathing measured, tortured gasps, her mind a twisted, tortured web of heat and tenderness.
"I am Margarette, Keeper of Nature," she gasped, her reedy, shaking voice a soft, singing breath, her reedy, shaking fingers smoothing the cool, fragile petals of the flower in her hand, her breathing measured, controlled gasps, her mind a matted, knotted web of heat and compassion. "I am bound to each of this world's trees. I can carry you where you must travel."
Ava, her thin, trembling arms quivering, her breathing in fast, shallow bursts, her mind a muddle, a twisted mess of fear and hope, whispered, "We must go to Simbaku."
Margarette nodded, her frail, trembling body alight in the fine, waxy light, her frail, trembling hands on their frail, trembling arms, her breathing labored, deliberate breaths, her mind a twisted, tangled mesh of heat and understanding. She stretched out, her frail, trembling hands on their frail, trembling arms, her breathing labored, deliberate breaths, her mind a twisted, tangled mesh of heat and understanding.
"Hold tight," she whispered, her thin, trembling voice a low, musical breath, her thin, trembling fingers brushing against their thin, trembling hands, her breath coming in slow, measured gasps, her mind a twisted, tangled web of warmth and compassion.
The tree itself shook, its twisted, crooked trunk creaking and groaning, its thick, knotted roots writhing and curling, its black, twisted arms reaching and bending. The air about them coiled and flexed, the thin, whirling dust curling about them, their thin, quivering forms shimmering and vanishing, their breath in ragged, shallow gasps, their minds a twisted, entangled skein of fear and wonder.
When the dust had settled, they saw that they stood on the rocky steep slope, the pale, thin light of the sun dancing off the crystal waters of the cascading waterfall that flowed over the rocky, jagged cliffs of Simbaku, its pale, thin spray catching the pale, thin rays of the sun, diffusing a spectrum of color on the jagged, rocky grounds below.
Ava tore apart, her stringy, quivering body coursing rapidly up the rocky, steep slope, her green, pointed eyes shifting to the little, huddled clusters of cottages and huts that peppered the base of the cliff, their great, sooty chimneys pumping thin, curled wisps of smoke upwards into the pale, filmy air.
She came to a little, battered dwelling, its coarse, split wooden door creaking on rusty hinges, its thin, black-stained chimney sending out curls of thin, curling tendrils of smoke into the thin, cold air. She thrust the door open, gasping short, shallow breaths, her mind a tangled, knotted web of fear and relief.
"Mother. Father." she panted, her shaking, skeletal voice a low, gasping whisper, her skeletal, shaking body shuddering, her gasping for air in short, tortured breaths, her mind a mangled, knotted mess of relief and fear.
Then, together again, they advanced toward the tall, sweeping spires of the castle, their thin, shaking bodies casting long, jagged shadows on the thin, cracked stone floors, their breathing short, shallow gasps, their minds a knotted, twisted mass of terror and awe.
King Vesh greeted them at the entrance, his thin, shivering figure clothed in bulkily black armor, his narrow, green eyes flashing toward their thin, shivering figures, his thin, shivering lips opening in a soft, airy whisper.
"Welcome," he gasped weakly, his spindly, shaking voice a low, rasping whisper, his spindly, shaking fingers on the hilt of his huge, twisted sword, his gasps of breathing quick, shallow, his mind a twisted, tangled web of fear and command.