There is a black dog in the backyard.

In his youth, he had listened to the elders tell terrifying stories to the children about that valley. They said that somewhere, buried under the roots of a white hawthorn, lay the heart of a giant who couldn’t stop searching for it, finding no peace for hundreds of years. The children trembled with fear, imagining the terrifying descriptions of the monster tearing apart unfortunate villagers and adventurers who had crossed its path while seeking the rumored treasures of his domains. But Halsin had always felt a sort of melancholy when hearing those tales. His small self imagined the pain of losing one’s heart—of someone stealing it and hiding it beneath the cold earth, in darkness. He imagined winters passing without knowing where it was, and the sensation of an invisible thread tugging desperately at his chest in all directions with the unbearable feeling of emptiness. He felt nothing but compassion for the giant.

His mind filled with those memories, with others villains and monsters: similar stories, creatures, witches, malevolent fairies peering through shifting shadows, now just tales to keep children from wandering too far from their villages. Real dangers lurked in the shadows—real enemies infected by a greater evil spreading like a disease. There was no time to search for any giant’s heart. What mattered was finding the source of these parasites.

The first thing that caught his attention as he ventured deeper was the unusual number of mushrooms on the trees and ground. The truffles were especially large and flavorful. The trees were adorned with beautiful, glowing fungi that became brighter and more varied as the darkness deepened. The grass under his paws was thick and soft; it had been a long time since he had seen a place with such an abundance of untouched, pristine vegetation.

The second thing that drew his attention was the behavior of the local animals. They didn’t display the usual ease he was accustomed to. Most watched him from afar, with the exception of a young sparrow that perched close, as if wanting to speak.

“You’re Halsin, aren’t you? You’re like the guardian,” it said, tilting its head. Its young voice carried the sweetness of a bird that had just learned to fly. “I’ve heard the crows say good things about you. Be careful—the guardian must not catch you snooping.”

“The guardian?” Could the stories about the giant be true? Had the being, resigned after losing its heart, taken to guarding the mountain, accepting only the precious company of birds and flowers?

“Who is your guardian, little one? Do you know where I can find them?” The small bird hopped onto his snout. Silvanus had bestowed upon Halsin the gift of calming beasts, of earning their trust simply by speaking.

“I won’t tell you! He mustn’t see you!” The birds on the other branches whispered along with the little one: “He mustn’t see you! He mustn’t see you!”

“Let’s make a deal. If you answer one questions, I’ll leave—just for today. Is that fair?” The little birds looked at one another, discussing in a language only they could understand, a lost tongue of the forest only for the beasts and the trees. “Very well, but make it quick. He-mustn’t-see-you!”

Halsin asked if they had seen more people recently, specifically Drow. Had they seen their guardian handling any kind of larva they hadn’t seen before? The birds replied that the guardian had dealt with several strangers with lilac skin and white hair. He had extracted worms from their heads as they slithered out of their ears upon death and crushed them—all except one, which he had carefully opened with a sharp thorn and observed for many hours, writing in his wordless books.

This meant the infection was not only unrelated to this unknown being, but also that the guardian wasn’t some wild giant. They were a rational being capable of dissecting and studying larvae. Could Halsin be in the presence of one of the hermit dark druids he had heard about many times during his novice years? He would have to proceed with caution. Decades ago, his order had tracked down several sectarians in small groups around the region. But this was not the time for investigation. It was nearly nightfall, and he had given his word—losing the favor of the birds was never a good idea.

Back in his study, he exhaled the smoke from his pipe slowly while his gaze was lost in the rhythmic dance inside the fireplace, but his mind wandered miles away. It still roamed those knotted trees, covered in luminous pearls and beautiful turquoise bells. Usually, he would go straight to discuss his discoveries with Nettie, but this time he had only mentioned some trivial information, omitting anything about the unknown being living in the mountain. He had searched the grove’s library for the names of the mushrooms he’d seen that evening. Three were listed as extinct, and the rest had no record. He was certain the being was connected to the abundant vitality of these species, and this only piqued his curiosity even more. What if one of those mushrooms had some kind of unknown healing effect? Beyond preserving their species, was this being propagating those fungi for a reason?

He spent the next morning solving problems within the grove: arguing with Khaga, helping the Tieflings—the usual. It was 3:00 PM when he set off for the mountain. By the time he arrived, the sun was high in the sky. This time, the birds didn’t greet him. A peculiar silence filled the spaces between the branches, the rocks, the grass. Only the sound of the wind whispering its unintelligible poems filled the clearing he had reached. He was deep in the forest when a sharp breath made him turn suddenly. Before him stood a ram, black from the tips of its horns to its tail. Its long, wavy hair seemed to absorb the light around it, but its expression and bright golden eyes betrayed its nature—it was as much beast as Halsin was.

The beast rose onto two legs and let all its weight fall onto the ground, sending the birds perched on its horns flying in different directions and cracking the earth beneath its sharp hooves. A familiar golden vapor surrounded it sinisterly as it took a menacing step forward.

The bear also took a step forward, but to close his eyes and offer a small, courteous bow with his massive head. “You must be the guardian the birds spoke of. Please, don’t be afraid. I’m nothing more than a servant of nature, just like you.”

As he finished speaking, the druid allowed the same golden vapor to return him to his human form, and he knelt before the being. In his outstretched hand lay a bundle of Goodberries. “My name is Halsin. Would it be too much to ask for yours?”

Some minutes passed before the ram began to approach slowly. After circling him a few times, it leaned its head in and sniffed the berries in his hand. Eating a couple as a gesture of peace, it spoke without changing form.

“Revna.” Its voice was rough and raspy, as if it had been a long time since it had spoken aloud. It wasn’t too deep or too high—a brownish tone, like dark sugar. “Hal-sin,” it repeated slowly, as if absorbing the syllables little by little. “The birds speak of you too.”

After saying this, it walked away slowly, studying him, memorizing his face. “I’ll let you pass. Thank the sparrows—they spoke up for you.”

It hopped off into the underbrush until blending into the darkness. In the distance, only a pair of golden eyes were visible for a moment before disappearing.

Halsin spent the following weeks visiting almost daily. He always arrived in bear form and returned to his human shape once there was no danger of being seen by any villagers. During the hours he spent there, he observed the different species of mushrooms taking notes in the small notebook he kept strapped to one of his paws on the way there. There were many more than he had seen the first time. The deeper he ventured, the more colors and shapes he discovered. Occasionally, he would see Revna walking slowly in ram form in the distance, observing his activities calmly. When not visible, Halsin could still feel his gaze from some indiscernible location—so much so that, over time, it became a game to figure out which direction he was being watched from, to turn quickly and catch him in the act. When he did, he always saw the bushes subtly rustling, and could have sworn he had once heard his spy’s snort of laughter.

During all that time, he didn’t dare take a single mushroom, though he was very interested in collecting a few samples and asking questions about their qualities—their effects upon ingestion, their origins, the reasons for their preservation.

At the end of the fourth week, he arrived determined to enter the forest in the form of a wild cat, trying to remain as stealthy as possible. The brownish color of his fur blended perfectly with the thick foliage of the valley. A part of him feared that venturing deeper without being watched would ruin the trust he had gained, but he couldn't contain his curiosity about what lay beyond the glades, beyond the ram form. The further he went in, the more insects he saw: moths, butterflies, beetles, caterpillars. Species he thought had long since migrated had settled there, in the peaceful and solitary darkness, cared for by that faceless being. At some height, he began to wonder if his ears were deceiving him; someone was singing, a soft voice, a bit hoarse, sweet, so very sweet, carried by the wind to him, lulling him in like sirens pulling sailors into the deep sea.

At the foot of a gray apple tree, a beautiful structure of red and purple oyster mushrooms grew. It looked like a miniature castle from which, at any moment, a swarm of fairies or an army of tiny myconids might emerge. They emitted an iridescent light that faintly illuminated the pale fruits of the tree and the long ivy hanging from its branches. At the base of the structure, a stream of cold, pure water gently sprang forth, and crouching in front of it, whispering its melancholic song, was a small figure. Upon paying more attention to the texture of their skin, he noticed that, just like him, it was a Wood Elf. But this one had a very long tail with black curls at the end, a thick bandage on the left thigh, and a pair of horns, long and curved, like those of a mountain goat or a wild ram. Their body was slender but small, and their dark olive skin was covered in freckles, full of thick scars. Long black hair piled up on the ground beside them, like a serpent. There was no doubt—it had to be him.

The Druid filled his lungs with air and, after returning to his human form, took a step forward. He had no idea how they would react, so he immediately took the same posture as when they first met and extended his hand, full of Goodberries.

“Revna? Is that you?” His first reaction was a look full of alertness and hostility, his arched back like a cat indicated he was about to pounce at him, claws first. All he could see was red. There was a stranger in his home, at the foot of his apple tree—how dared he? How had he come without being seen? And what kind of guardian was he to have allowed such a thing?—All of that passed, and the alertness melted away upon seeing the hand full of Goodberries in front of his face. It was the Druid, the bear who came almost daily, the one who observed the mushrooms without damaging them, the one the sparrows said was caring and gentle.

“Hal-sin,” he said, the same way he had the first time.

“How did you get here?” The words came slowly, as if he had to remember how to talk to people.

“I’ve been looking for you. I have many questions I’d like to ask you about the insects and mushrooms you’ve been caring for, about the strangers who’ve been attacking our valleys.”

“Our valleys,” Revna repeated. Halsin also had a valley to protect, beings to care for, and species to preserve. Had he too been attacked by those strange white-haired ones?

Despite how alarming the possibility was, the thought brought calm. To feel that they both had too much to lose, too much to protect. He extended his hand, this time it was his long fingers that took a handful of berries and gave him the approval to follow with a head gesture.

Revna seemed wonderfully comfortable walking naked through life. Halsin watched him with the fascination of someone seeing a white deer in the snow for the first time; this time it was his eyes following Revna’s steps. A pair of small birds perched on his horns, one of them the little chick that had welcomed him the first time. It jumped onto his shoulder and spent the rest of the journey chirping next to his neck, among his reddish braids.

They walked in silence for about twenty minutes or so until reaching a stone structure covered in ivy and white clusters of flowers at the end of the valley. It was half buried at the base of the mountain, half built with large stone blocks sticking out. In front of it were a pair of baskets with straw in which two geese were having a heated discussion about who was eating all the worms from the pond. Halsin saw the guardian smile for the first time. When he spoke to the animals, he did so in a very soft voice, almost a whisper.

“Sonia, Sur Sur, there are enough worms for both of you.”

Once the ladies were calm, he turned and gestured for Halsin to sit on a thick wooden chair by the water ravine in front of his home. Placing a few bright pink apples in front of him, he reclined on a log against the porch and began to eat the Goodberries the Archdruid had just conjured.

His thick, dark hair fell over his shoulder like an ebony waterfall, his eyes were yellow like those of a goat, every gesture careful and precise. Before bringing a fruit to his mouth, Revna examined it as though it were a ruby between his fingers. Halsin tried to tame his curiosity so his host wouldn't misinterpret his gaze, but he couldn't help but let his eyes fall on the deep scars across his body. The bandage on his thigh had nearly fallen apart during their walk, and a fairly recent wound peeked out beneath it. A wide gash along the muscle, still half-healed.

“It was the first of those strange white-haired ones,” he said, his eyes fixed on him.

“Would you let me heal it for you?”

Revna slowly sat on the table in front of him, and Halsin gently placed his hand, eyes closed, over the deep wound. It must have taken a long time for such a deep injury to heal naturally; it looked like it had been made with a spear. When he removed his hand, there was nothing left but a faint change of pigmentation.

“I’ve never been good at healing. Thank you.”

There was a weight in his words, it made the Druid think of the giant, searching for his heart in the darkness.

“Now you have me. You can ask me whenever you need.”

Their faces were very close, but neither of them seemed intimidated or shy, rather curious. Revna studied his face, and Halsin remained still, so he could observe as much as he pleased.

“Did you build it?” He gestured to the house with his hand.

“No. There was another before me, but he was already dead when I arrived.” He took one of his thin reddish braids in his hand and stared at it. “I found his bones in his bed, buried him there.” He made a brief gesture with his head toward the base of a vine as thick as a poplar and returned to his meticulous investigation, his brow furrowed in concentration. Halsin stretched out his hand slowly and took a lock of his long hair between his fingers; it was soft, as black as a raven's feathers.

“How long have you lived in this place? How did you get here? People fear this valley—they tell all kinds of stories, don’t they?”

Revna listened with an amused air, a tad of pride on his smile. He had worked hard to keep those beliefs alive.

“I know.” Now he was inspecting the clasp on the ribbon in his hair, running his long claws lightly over the surface of leather and bronze.

“Take it,” said Halsin, closing his eyes as his skilled fingers untied his hair.

“Forty summers. I would’ve lost count, but the trees count them for me.”

The Druid opened his eyes in a mix of surprise and dread.

“You’ve been alone for forty years!?”

Their gazes met for the first time during all this time.

“I was raised by shadow druids, Hal-sin. Loneliness does not scare me.”

He looked at the brooch in his hands as he spoke, his words, unaccustomed to concealment, dripping with unfathomable sadness.

“I ran away when I saw the cruelty they were capable of. I lived for a long time in the city, saw many people, so many people. I got sick of them and wandered aimlessly until I arrived here. Haven’t left since.”

The Archdruid pulled his eyes from his face and slowly began to braid the hair in his hand in an effort not to wrap his arms around him.

“How old are you, Revna?” 

“Seventy-seven summers, I think.” He lifted his head to watch the two geese fighting again, now about whether or not to make room for a third.

“But I don’t feel lonely.”

He took the braid Halsin had made in his hair and looked at it, then placed it alongside his own and observed both up close.

“You’re the first being I’ve spoken to in all this time who isn’t an animal or a mushroom.”

A shy, tired smile graced his expression, Revna gently ran the tip of his fingers over the red mark adorning Halsin's face, concentration visiting his expression again. The little bird that had been hidden among the reddish hair of the bear all this time had now returned to his caretaker's nape. Halsin stretched out his hand and gently stroked the scar beneath one of his heavy horns.

“Guardian of the mountain, would it bother you if I kept coming often to your home to spend time with you? I promise your secrets are safe with me.”

When was the last time he had touched another person’s hair?

Revna thought of the night he first arrived at this place. His exhausted body tearing off his light armor and throwing it away, assassins and hunters be damned. Crying until growling, feeling the weight of all those years in Baldur’s Gate, having moved from the violence of his upbringing to that of the powerful, the wealthy, those with names that were supposed to mean something to him. The world had always seemed harder for him to understand than for others; his mind would freeze when he had to defend himself, and he ended up acting like a beast filled with fear and panic, being treated as one as well.

He left the forest in his adolescence, drawn by the tree beneath which the shadow druids had killed his father. It called to him, whispering the truth they had hidden: his father hadn’t abandoned him to starve or be devoured by beasts as they told. Seeking the remnants of his family in the city, he found nothing—only the same cruelty, disguised under different names.

The forest and the mushrooms were simpler, honest. With time, they told him his father had been a hunter, poor but kind, that he sang to him to make him fall asleep at night. That was enough.

Now, a druid with reddish hair like freshly cut wood sat at his table. He smelled of meadows and homemade bread, he smelled like sunlight. His eyes held a sweetness he had seen only a few times before. Perhaps it was because the first time they met, he too had looked like a beast—just like him—or maybe it was simply the exhaustion from endless solitude, but this one seemed good.

“I choose to trust you, bear. Don’t make me regret it.”

There was no trace of threat in his voice, it was a plea.

Halsin pressed his forehead against his and nuzzled him with his nose.

“I promise, little ram.”

They talked for hours, about the drow but mostly about the uses of the spores Revna could produce. Slowly, his broken voice became steadier, gaining strength. Still, it retained a naturally soft, hoarse quality. He passionately explained the possible medicinal uses of the mushrooms—how to differentiate them, how to catalog them, and which ones to avoid at all costs. The reason for their preservation was none other than fascination and study. This is how the Archdruid learned that the guardian was a devoted Spore Druid. His creations could be used to help as much as to harm, in equal measure. It began to make sense that he had chosen a life of solitude; his heart seemed as peculiar as those strange beings—so vital for the natural balance of life and yet so alien.

By the time they parted, it was nearly night. The last rays of the sun tinged the sky with reddish hues, casting a golden glow on their skins. Rev looked smaller beneath that pink mantle, sweeter. The late wind swayed his long hair like the branches of a willow, and Halsin had to force himself not to take him in his arms and carry him away. It pained him, thinking about those forty years of loneliness; he knew that one more night wouldn’t make a difference, but in his heart, he didn’t want him to be alone anymore. Perhaps the fearsome giant of the shadowed borders would never be able to discover where his heart was buried, but he wished with all his being that he could help him fill that void with his own.

As they said their goodbyes, Rev placed a small cloth bag into his hands.

'Before you leave, this is for you.' The bag was made of natural fabric, likely crafted by him from the herbs of his terrains.

'Are these... spores? It smells like earth kissed by rain!' The scent was nostalgic, fresh.

'Haste spores, yes. Bring a basket when you return, and I’ll give you others—the ones we talked about today, and any others you want.'

He paused, a flicker of worry crossing his expression. 'You’ll return, won’t you?' His eyes began to shine as response to the darkness growing over them, and the druid, already struggling to resist taking the guardian with him, had to hold himself back even more at the sweetness of that question. Would he return? As many times as he could, as many times as fate would allow."

He took his slender, scarred hand in his and held it for a moment, contemplating.

"You’ll have me here every time I can, as soon as I find an opportunity."

Revna had accompanied him to the boundary between his forest and the meadows, his eyes scanning the horizon as if it had been a long time since he had seen those fields. It was as though he had forgotten the world, and the world had forgotten him. He had awoken from a forty-year dream to discover that life had continued beyond the mountains. Halsin's voice was what finally woke him up.

"I’ll bring different fruits and books. I saw you had some, but you’ll probably want to read other things. Tell me anything you need, and I’ll bring it to you."

"Could you bring me paper? I like the paper you use—it smells like sunlight, like you."

A small gasp escaped his lips when Halsin embraced him, but he didn’t pull away.

"Paper. Noted," a thread of a voice.

Rev let himself be held, perfectly still, his eyes closed, taking it all in. When Halsin finally released him, he stepped back slowly, almost reluctantly.

"I’ll be waiting."

The druid, in bear form now, waved his paw at the hill of the meadow, where the golden horizon kissed the grass. All that could be seen was his silhouette and his two glowing golden eyes, shining like his own. Revna returned to his stone house with an uneasy heart, wondering if that had truly happened. He sat by the entrance, holding his trembling knees, and two large tears slid down his cheeks. Instantly, the sparrows surrounded him, whispering sweet nothings.

"What’s wrong, gentle guardian? What hurts?"

"Little ram," he murmured softly, recalling the Druid’s words. "are we sure we can trust him?"

A rat in the winter of its life, climbed onto his shoulder and gently nuzzled his cheek.

"Don’t worry, guardian, the tall druid is kind to everyone, he’ll bring berries for you too!"