~~~

«I am: entity, breathing, 0413-23-53-06-29,» — Mako uttered, her face illuminated by the steady fire of the wick. — «A call upon the Fairn, at the beginning of the brook, near the Birthplace of self, requesting: Judgements».

Valeng couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, afraid that Mako’s loud and clear incantation might’ve been heard at Their Birthplace down below. But the wind was in their favour, together with the aroma of the forest bringing the homely smells of smoke, livestock, and produce. Valeng rotated his ears, alert, but there was only the screech of the white-faced bird, the kind that scared him so much as a kid. Nothing else could be heard over the ceaseless murmur of the brook’s cold waters.

Everyone was quiet, waiting. Covering the little light with her paw, Mako stood on her knees on the highest stone of the Stumps, as the this peculiar collection of rocks was known to the children of Their Birthplace. A stream of water rushed from underneath the heft of one rock — that was the brook that Mako used in her appeal to the Fairn. Dim orange glow reflected unmoving in her eyes. Her hood was down, and her ears close to her skull. Focus emanated from her.

«So, how clear should be the response?..» — from the darkness came the calm voice of Borri. Valeng twitched his head towards his pale shape. Borri’s head was to the side, and he watched Mako from underneath his fluffy eyebrows.

Valeng couldn’t think of a detailed yet quick answer in time. Fouge hissed at Borri, shushing all further conversation. But it was the right thing to do — they all had to focus, Mako most of all. Valeng closed his eyes, and tried to clear his consciousness from the thoughts and images that cluttered it now more than ever.

And it worked. Valeng felt his eyes roll up, never reaching the top, and felt his mind falling endlessly into the earth. The moss, pressed on by the hand of his paw, sank deeper into the great Stump. The woollen hood tickled his ears. The sensations were unpleasant; but he had trained himself to hold his focus — do not let the mind wander, do not open your eyes.

The whole universe shrunk, trapped inside Valeng’s skull, and so he could clearly observe every sound to be heard: the water rushing down the stony steps, the rustle of vegetation all around, the crack of the wick Mako held, the pumping of the blood in his neck, and the hearts beating all around. And over all that gentle racket there was a sound that was as though it was natural and synthetic at the same time. Voice-like and mechanical, a wail of a ghostly whistle. A sound, Valeng felt, that could only be one thing: the signal from the Fairn. No lips moved, but the fluctuations of matter formed the words, of which Valeng managed to catch only: «...ceived. State the objects».

«I hear it.»

«You sure?.. I hear but wind...» — a whisper came from somewhere to the right, Valeng not recognising the voice. He opened his eyes, and the light of the wick seemed as bright as the Moon.

«Yes!.. ‘State the objects’...» — the hoarse whisper hurt Valeng's his throat.