"The strength of the warrior feeds the life of the tree," Torren said again, quieter this time. "It may not have the same meaning, however I can see parallels between this story and what my clan strives for. The king in your story, his return brought back prosperity to his realm. The Ironwood believe that to protect the forest means to gain prosperity, strength and a purpose alongside your clansmen. The forest gives strength to those that protect it. It's a cycle. Yes, I think my clan would very much enjoy the meaning in your tattoo."

  Paul looked at his tattoo for a moment. "Yeah, I can see how you would come to that conclusion. I kind of wish we could let you read the book. I'm sure the library in town has a copy but I'm not sure you'd be able to read it."

  "That's a lovely gesture." He smiled at the group. "If you find a copy, I would be willing to try to learn your language. I feel that doing so might come in handy in the future."

  Torren was quiet for a second. He looked between the five of them, then at Liam, then back at Paul. Something had settled in his expression, warm and decided.

  "I would like to take you all to meet my clan someday," he said. "When things are more settled. The Ironwood would find you interesting." He paused. "I think they would like you."

  Shai's tail stilled for just a moment before it resumed its easy sway.

  The boys looked at each other.

  "We'd like that," Lee said.

  Torren looked between them for a moment. "Can I ask you something. The tattoos. Is this common where you're from? People carrying meaning on their skin?"

  "Pretty common yeah," Paul said. "Used to be seen as rough, something criminals and sailors had. Took a long time for that to change." He shrugged. "Where we're from now, all sorts of people have them. All walks of life. Artists, teachers, builders. People get them for all kinds of reasons — stories they love, people they've lost, things that matter to them."

  "Interesting," Torren said. "Humans here don't. Orcs always have, some beast-kin do from time to time, but I've never known a human to carry ink." He looked at the 5 of them. "I like that your people do." He nodded, satisfied.

  Torren turned his shoulder slightly, letting the light catch the tattoo again. The face in the bark seemed to shift as the angle changed, ever watchful.

  "The Ironwood tattoos aren't just art," he said. "They are a source of strength. Each one is bound to something, a story, an ancestor, a piece of the forest itself. When you draw on it the magic stored in the ink answers." He tapped the tree on his shoulder. "This one connects me to my father's clan. When I need what the Ironwood gives I reach for it here."

  "What does it give you?" Lee asked.

  "Two things. The outer forest. I can encourage growth, read the land, feel what lives in it." He glanced at Liam. "My garden does better than it has any right to given the soil near the village." He turned back to the group. "And the inner forest. When I draw it in it hardens my body. Muscle, bone, skin. Empowers me, strengthens what is already inside."

  "So it gives you increased strength?" Paul said.

  "Yes. It also gives me better endurance, makes me a wall that can protect others." Torren said.

  "How do you actually do it?" Ste asked. "The drawing inward part. What does it feel like?"

  Torren considered this. "I believe it is different for every person. For me..." He took a moment to think. "You know the feeling of standing barefoot on good earth? When the ground is solid under you and you feel the weight of yourself settling into it?" He paused. "It's that. But you pull it up through yourself instead of just standing in it. Root yourself to it and let it fill you. You become a conduit of the earth's might, of nature's will."

  "Ours is a bit more..." Paul searched for the word.

  "Chaotic," Parmo offered.

  "I was going to say energetic."

  "Chaotic is accurate," Ste said.

  Torren smiled. "That tends to settle. Usually."

  Rika had sat quietly while the boys spoke with Torren. She had been fidgeting the entire time. That came to an abrupt halt.

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  "Right," she said. "Time for the really important questions."

  The boys exchanged a look. Lee gulped.

  Rika pointed at Ste's feet. "Those. What are those? I've been looking at them since you arrived. Why are your boots white? What are they made of? Why are they so flat?"

  Ste looked down at his trainers. "They're trainers. You wear them for sport mostly, running, that sort of thing. Rubber sole, canvas, bit of foam in between for—" He stopped. "Sorry, you probably don't know what rubber or foam are."

  "I have no idea what either of those things are," Rika said cheerfully. "But keep going."

  Ste blinked. "Right. So — rubber is a material, comes from trees actually, very flexible, waterproof. Foam is... air trapped in a soft material. Makes it cushioned."

  Rika processed this. "You made shoes from tree material and trapped air for comfort."

  "When you say it like that it sounds strange."

  "It sounds ingenious actually." She tilted her head. "Though I still don't understand why you made them white. White gets dirty immediately."

  "That's kind of the point," Parmo said. "Keeping them clean is the whole thing. Some people are obsessive about it."

  Rika looked at Shai. Shai shrugged.

  She moved on immediately. Her eyes landed on Lee. "You. Why do you have so many pockets?"

  Lee looked down at his cargo trousers. "They're just useful."

  "How many things do you need to carry?"

  "You'd be surprised."

  "Can I see what's in them?"

  "Absolutely not."

  Rika nodded, accepting this, and turned to Liam. She studied his face.

  "Why don't you have a beard? The others all have beards."

  Paul made a noise.

  "I do have a beard," Liam said. "It's just—"

  "Where?"

  "It's there, it's just—"

  "I can see a little bit," Rika said, leaning in slightly. "Just there."

  "Yeah, that's all of it," Ste said.

  "That's not a beard," Rika said.

  "It's a beard," Liam said.

  "It's the suggestion of a beard," Paul said, losing the battle entirely.

  "It's a beard in progress," Parmo offered.

  "It's been in progress for about fifteen years," Lee said.

  Liam looked at the sky. The boys were laughing properly now. Even Shai's mouth had curved. Torren was shaking again.

  Rika looked at Liam for a moment, head tilted. "For what it's worth, you have a very kind face. A beard might hide that."

  Liam opened his mouth. Closed it.

  "Oh," Paul said, the laugh fading into something warmer. "She got you there mate."

  The laughter settled slowly.

  Torren looked around at the group and smiled. "You know, a conversation like this feels wrong without good food and good drink." He paused. "Sadly I brought nothing suitable from camp. We have supplies in the treeline but nothing that would suit the occasion." He looked genuinely regretful. "If only I had thought to bring my latest blend. I think you all would have loved it."

  Lee looked at him. "Hang on. Blend?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you talking about tea?"

  "Of course."

  The boys looked at each other.

  "I knew there was a reason I loved this guy," Paul said.

  Parmo nodded slowly. "Man drinks tea." He shook his head. "A dude after my own heart."

  Torren looked between them both, clearly pleased, if slightly uncertain what he'd just been called.

  "It just means you're a good guy," Ste said. "High praise from him."

  Parmo looked mildly offended. Torren looked delighted.

  "In that case," Torren said warmly. "I am very happy to be a dude."

  "Right," Liam said, holding his hand out, palm up. Items appeared one by one as he called them. A small pan. A camping tripod. A mug. Then another. Then another.

  Rika had gone very still. Shai leaned in slightly. Torren watched with open curiosity.

  A fourth mug appeared. Then a fifth. Then a sixth. Then a seventh. Then an eighth.

  "Why so many mugs?" Paul asked.

  Liam pointed at Lee and Parmo without looking up. "Cos Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb over there are clumsy as fuck, that's why."

  "Excuse me?" Parmo said.

  "How dare you?" Lee said.

  Both completely deadpan.

  They laughed.

  "He's not wrong though," Ste said. "Lee, remember when you dropped my iPod the day I got it?"

  Lee turned to look at him. "Why the fuck are you bringing that up?"

  "Just came to mind."

  "That keeps me awake at night. Years later and that still keeps me awake."

  Ste smiled. He was well aware.

  Rika leaned toward Shai while the argument about the iPod was still going. "They're always like this?"

  Shai watched them for a moment. "From what I've seen, yes."

  Rika looked back at the boys. "I love it here."

  Liam set down a three litre bottle of water. Then a box of Yorkshire Gold teabags.

  "Idiots," he grinned.

  "Shame I didn't bring sugar though," he added.

  "Ah," Paul said.

  "Yeah," Liam said. "Would have been perfect."

  "That sucks," Ste said.

  "Yeah..." Lee said.

  Liam nodded solemnly. Then held out his hand and produced a small bag of sugar.

  "Ha, goteem," said Liam, in a stupid voice.

  The boys stared at him.

  "What a prick." Paul said.

  Parmo shook his head. "Classic Liam. Dickhead."

  "Why did you—" began Lee.

  "Because it's funny," laughed Liam.

  Paul opened his mouth. Closed it. "Fair enough."

  "Why do you even have sugar in there?" Ste asked.

  Liam looked at him. "I've got teabags, a pan, a tripod, eight mugs and three litres of water." He paused. "Did you think I'd forget the sugar?"

  Torren stood. "I'll be back in a moment."

  He turned and walked into the treeline.

  Everyone looked at each other.

  "Where's he going?" Parmo asked.

  Shai watched the trees. "He has a storage pouch in camp."

  A brief silence.

  "What's in it?" Lee asked.

  "I have no idea," Shai said.

  Torren reappeared from the trees a minute later, a worn leather pouch over one shoulder. He settled back into the group, reached into the pouch, and produced a small clay bottle.

  "Does anyone take milk?"

  The boys stopped.

  All five of them turned to look at Torren with an expression that was difficult to describe but had something in common with a man who had been lost in a desert for three weeks and had just been handed a cold drink.

  "You have milk," Lee said.

  "I do."

  "It's fresh?"

  "Still cool." He patted the pouch. "Keeps things that way."

  "Torren," Paul said carefully. "Has anyone ever told you you're a hero?"