Chapter 2 — Whispers in the Woods

The morning was still and quiet, save for the soft symphony of a forest stirring awake. Birds called to one another in lilting melodies, and the wind rustled gently through the trees, whispering secrets only the wild could understand. Lila’s eyes fluttered open to a room glowing with pale, golden light. Mist shimmered just beyond the window, and dewdrops clung to the glass, refracting tiny rainbows that danced across the walls.

But Lila didn’t stay beneath the quilt her mother had tucked around her the night before.
Something tugged at her chest—a soft, insistent pull, like a friend calling from far away. Quietly, she slid out of bed, her bare feet padding across the cool wooden floor.

She opened the door slowly, careful not to let it creak. Crisp air kissed her cheeks, and her breath puffed out in little clouds. The trees towered before her, hushed and waiting—as if they knew her name. The scent of pine and moss filled her nose, awakening something deep and warm inside her. She giggled softly.

The woods seemed to breathe with her.

Drawn forward, she wandered toward the trees, her sweater brushing the tops of her rain boots. Every step felt guided—like the forest had been waiting. The ground was damp with dew, and twigs snapped softly underfoot. All around her, the world seemed to hush.

At the edge of a small clearing, the trees parted. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden ribbons, painting the mossy earth. Lila blinked. Something was there.

A circle of smooth stones and feathers lay arranged with strange precision. Each feather—brown, black, white—looked carefully chosen. The stones shimmered faintly, catching light in a way that didn’t seem natural.

She crouched beside it, head tilted. Her hand hovered over one stone. A tingling spread through her palm. The air felt charged, as if the circle pulsed with something alive.

Her fingers brushed the stone—and the hum bloomed. It wasn’t sound, but something deeper. It curled through her chest and up her spine, settling in her bones like a note struck in perfect harmony. The leaves rustled louder. The breeze stilled. The moment stretched.

Then, a sound. Lila turned her head slowly.

A deer stood at the edge of the clearing. Tawny. Still. Its eyes held a quiet knowing.

For a long breath, they simply stared. Lila felt her heart slow, her breathing match the deer’s. She could feel it—its presence, its calm, its curiosity. And something else: a silent understanding, as if they shared a thread.

In the deer’s eyes, she saw her reflection.

And her own eyes… flickered gold.

She gasped.

The deer flinched and bolted, vanishing into the trees. Lila stood frozen, wonder and confusion colliding in her chest.

“Lila!”

Her mother’s voice broke the spell. Lila spun around. Rae was standing on the porch, sunlight glinting off her auburn braid.

“Coming, Mama!” she called, casting one last look at the circle.

She wanted to touch it again. To stay. But her mother’s voice pulled her back.

By the time she reached the house, Rae stood waiting, arms crossed. Her smile was tight.

“What were you doing out there?” she asked, voice light, eyes sharp.

“Just exploring,” Lila said, shrugging. “I saw a deer—it was so close!”

Rae’s posture stiffened for a breath, then she opened the door. “Next time, let me know before you wander off, okay?”

Lila nodded, though her curiosity hummed on.

Inside, the scent of coffee and toast wrapped around her. Rae moved through the kitchen with practiced ease. Lila climbed into a wooden chair at the table, bouncing slightly on her toes.

Over breakfast, she couldn’t keep it in.

“There was a circle of stones and feathers,” she blurted. “When I touched it, I felt it. Like it was humming.”

“A circle of stones?” Rae cut in, turning to face her, green eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. It was really pretty. Do you think someone made it?”

Rae paused, her expression unreadable. Then came the smile—too quick.

“Probably just kids playing. You know how people leave things in the woods.”

“But it felt different,” Lila insisted. “Like it was—”

“Lila.” Rae’s tone softened, but her voice carried finality. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just stay close to the house from now on. Okay?”

Lila bit her lip. The warmth in her chest dimmed.

She nodded slowly. But her mind kept spinning.

She wanted to tell her about the deer. The golden flicker. The feeling in her hands. But something in Rae’s face stopped her.

The rest of the day passed quietly.

In the garden, everything felt… brighter. Clearer.

She heard insects buzzing from impossibly far away. She could smell the wetness of the soil, the sweetness of wildflowers, and the sharp edge of rain—though the sky was a clear blue.

She closed her eyes and turned toward the cottage. The scent of lavender drifted from the open window—stronger than it should have been. Her pulse quickened.

Later, crouched by a patch of wildflowers near the stream, she reached out as a butterfly passed. Her hand moved faster than she expected. Her fingertips brushed its wing before it zipped away into the air.

She stared at her own hand. It hadn’t felt like reflex. It had felt… precise.

That night, Rae tucked her into bed. Lila studied her mother’s face. There was a smile—but also something behind it. Worry. Distance. Fear?

Lila wanted to ask her. Wanted to tell her everything.

But she didn’t.

“Goodnight, Mama,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Rae kissed her forehead. She lingered for a moment longer than usual.

When the house settled into silence, Lila lay beneath the quilt, staring at the ceiling beams. The echo still lingered inside her, like a song she hadn’t finished hearing. It was still inside her, curling quietly like a secret song.

She didn’t know what was happening.

Only that it was real.
And powerful.
And hers.

For now, it would be her secret.

But not for long.