The forest shuddered with voice. The leaves, ripe and green, chimed as they shackled against each other, against their branches. It was a breeze; light and hot, a sweet secret. It rolled past him, whipping itself into a whirl of words, haunting, promising him something. He could almost see it: a shimmering incandescence, brilliant and alive and beckoning.
The voice fell silent.
And then he noticed the pull.
Excited now, Robin ran. His heart beat in rhythm with his feet, landing heavily on the hard ground. Between the thick trunks, thick and tired with age, he could make out the distant city of Ne'haer. It basked under the suns, homes and markets and schools all together in a perfectly white outline against the blue of the ocean. That was the place he lived -- but he was being pulled elsewhere.
The woods stretched endlessly. He tired, but still he ran. There was something at the end, he felt it. He knew it.
Eventually, the trees broke into farmland. Grains, barley and wheat specifically, sprouted rapidly from his feet. It grew quickly, taller than him, before spreading out to the horizon. Gold and yellow, yellow and gold. Past the grain, he could make out an apple red barn, a small wooden house. Beyond that, more buildings. Smaller and plainer than Ne'haer.
"Treth," he whispered, breathless. Robin was tired. Still, he ran south. The pull was stronger here, brighter, more desperate. Whatever he was looking for, he needed to find it. Now, it was more instinct than choice.
"Why here?" Robin asked, remembering Victor. There was a small plot of earth, as he passed his old home. The witch had buried him there, making him a defiant. He remembered the apple tree where he'd met Felicia, the strange girl who would become his sister. Here was where he'd known the elements as friends, as family. This was where Victor had died.