Chapter 27 The Willows Whisper
### Chapter 27: The Willows Whisper
The sun began to dip beneath the horizon, casting a deep orange glow across the dense, untamed forest. A biting wind rustled the trees, sending the scent of damp earth and pine into the air. Trill stood motionless, his sharp eyes scanning the clearing, taking in the grim sight of Corin's body hanging from an ancient oak. The blood had long dried on the cold earth beneath him, but the grisly tableau was a clear message: the ambushers had marked their territory.
"Trill…" Bren's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a blade. "What now?"
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. He didn't have to answer her right away; his focus was on the trees surrounding them, his mind reaching out to commune with the forest. Bren knew better than to ask again; when he needed the forest to speak, it did so in its own time.
He closed his eyes and placed his hand on the gnarled bark of a nearby oak, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath his fingers. The trees whispered to him, their ancient voices crackling through the air. Their language was old, one only Trill understood. Slowly, a cold sense of purpose settled over him.
"They're still nearby," Trill muttered under his breath. "We're being watched."
Bren's hand hovered near her sword, but she didn't move. She trusted Trill's instincts. The woods were alive for him in ways they weren't for anyone else.
Lyra, one of their guildmates who had joined them for the hunt, shifted restlessly behind them. "Do you want us to track them, Trill? We can't just stand here."
Trill nodded. "Lyra, you stay with the caravan. We don't know if there's another ambush waiting for us. Bren and I will take the lead."
Lyra opened her mouth to protest, but she bit her lip and gave a curt nod. She was a seasoned warrior, but even she knew better than to argue with Trill when it came to the forest. Her presence in the caravan would ensure they weren't caught off guard.
As the two of them set off, Trill's focus remained on the trees. His connection to the woods, to the living beings hidden within, was sharper than ever. He could feel the pulse of movement around them—branches swaying in the distance, the soft rustling of leaves.
Bren stayed close to him, her sword ready, her senses alert. "What's the plan?"
"First," Trill said, "we need to see what's left of their trail. They've been careless."
They moved quickly through the underbrush, each step deliberate. The forest, once a tangled maze of shadows and sound, was now a map—a map only Trill could read. He could hear the faintest crunch of footsteps, sense the broken twigs beneath their feet.
And then, the earth seemed to grow restless beneath them.
---
**Feral Summons**
Without warning, Trill's hands moved with practiced ease, his voice rising in a quiet chant. The ground trembled ever so slightly, and the very earth around them began to stir. The trees groaned as their roots shifted, and soon, creatures began to emerge.
A pack of Snap Dragons, their bodies covered in thorny scales and their red eyes glowing fiercely, padded into the clearing. Their jaws snapped, their teeth like razors, ready to rip into any who stood in their path. Alongside them, hedge boars, muscular and aggressive, snorted as they sniffed the air, their tusks gleaming like knives.
Trill's voice was quiet, but firm. "Find them."
The creatures obeyed instantly, lurching forward, their instincts sharp, their eyes focused on the distant trail. Trill stood still, watching them disappear into the woods with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Let's follow them," he said, not breaking his stride. "They'll flush them out."
Bren's eyes flicked toward him, a mixture of awe and suspicion. She had always known Trill was powerful, but his connection to nature—and the creatures it birthed—was something to behold.
"You're sure they'll lead us to them?"
Trill's eyes were fixed forward, his jaw set with grim resolve. "They'll lead us to the ones responsible. And we'll make sure they don't leave with their lives."
The two of them moved swiftly, following the feral pack through the dense forest, the beasts' growls and snorts echoing in the distance. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, a sure sign that the ambushers had made camp not far ahead.
---
**A Guard for the Caravan**
Meanwhile, Lyra remained behind, keeping a vigilant watch over the caravan. The wagons were clustered tightly together in a clearing, their wheels caked in mud from the rain earlier in the day. The rest of the guildmates huddled close, their faces tense, hands on their weapons as they watched the trees surrounding them.
Lyra's sharp gaze flicked back and forth between the trees and the wagons. Her instincts told her that the danger was far from over.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw movement.
She moved with a fluid grace, drawing her sword as her eyes locked onto the shadow shifting in the trees. A faint rustle, a low growl—it was one of Trill's creatures, a signal.
The trees around them seemed to hum with energy, and Lyra's heart raced. She could feel it—the tension, the anticipation. The forest was alive, and it was watching them.
She stayed on high alert, unwilling to take any chances.
---
**Hunting the Ambushers**
Trill and Bren continued their pursuit, drawing closer to the camp where the ambushers had set up. The Snap Dragons and hedge boars had led them deep into the woods, but now, the sounds of the beasts had gone quiet. They were close.
Suddenly, the forest broke open into a clearing. There, the embers of a dying campfire flickered weakly, and several figures crouched around it, speaking in hushed voices. Trill's eyes narrowed. They hadn't seen them yet.
"Get ready," Trill whispered.
Bren's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword. She was prepared, but she knew that the real danger would be Trill's next move. His connection to the forest wasn't just magic—it was a battle tactic.
He gave a sharp signal, and the Snap Dragons and boars moved in silently, circling the camp from the shadows. Bren and Trill moved in next, closing the distance between them and the unsuspecting ambushers.
As Trill gave a final signal, the pack of beasts erupted from the woods, a blur of fury. The ambushers jumped to their feet in panic, but they were too slow. Trill was already in motion, his sword flashing in the dim light. With swift, precise strikes, he cut down the first two attackers. Bren was right behind him, her blade slashing through the air in a deadly arc that brought down another assailant.
In the chaos, the remaining ambushers scrambled to escape, but it was too late. Trill's feral pack had already cornered them, their claws and teeth closing in on the last few men. The Snap Dragons tore into them with merciless efficiency.
One man, a rough-looking figure with a scar running down his cheek, was the last to fall. He looked up, panic in his eyes, as Trill approached, his sword gleaming with the blood of his comrades.
"Tell me who sent you," Trill demanded, his voice a low growl.
The man's eyes darted around, but the grip of the Snap Dragons and boars was unyielding. He swallowed hard before stammering out, "It was Malgrin… Malgrin sent us. He's looking for something."
Trill's eyes flared with rage at the name, but his voice remained icy. "What's he looking for? Where is he?"
The man's face twisted with fear, but before he could answer, his body jerked as a Snap Dragon's jaws closed around him. The beast's teeth sank deep, and the man's last breath was cut short.
Trill stood over the body, his mind racing. *Malgrin. The monster who destroyed everything.*
"We're not done yet," Trill muttered, his eyes dark with resolve. "We're going after him."
Bren, standing beside him, tightened her grip on her sword. She could see the fire burning in his eyes, and for the first time, she understood the depths of his vengeance. They weren't just hunting the people who had killed Corin—they were hunting a nightmare. And they wouldn't stop until Malgrin paid for everything he had done.