The Sky Drifter by Paris Singer Page A

small and dark green inside it. Their oddest feature, I thought, was that in the spot where the roots became branches, a solitary, circular eye unblinkingly watched us all.
    “You were saying?” Iris grinned, gently elbowing me in the gut.
    “Yeah, that must have been it,” I lied, deciding to keep the persistent feeling to myself after all.
    “These, students,” began Mr. Sylva in his gruff monotone as he turned to face us, “are Heesters. They rest and socialize deep within the darkness of the forest, communicating with each other via brainwaves, attuned to a frequency only they can hear. The only time they venture out of darkness is to feed, whereby they will float upward in areas where foliage is thinnest to soak up the rays of the nearby star above.”
    “Do they bite, sir?” asked a winged Volo girl in front of me.
    “You will find, dear girl, that no creature in Brattea will harm you,” replied Mr. Sylva, as if having told us for the very first time. “Let us keep moving, students. We have almost reached the Brattean village.”
    The air had now become so thick, so heavy, it was difficult to breathe, and I found myself sweating through my vest. The path we walked on was narrower and smaller than the others had been, as the underbrush spewed onto it from both sides. The reeds and stalks at times glowed blue and white, at other times purple and red, expanding or contracting as we made contact with them.
    Finally, we reached the end of the long path and stepped into a clearing. Ahead, the surrounding bushes and trees encircled an area whose ground was covered in red, yellow, brown, and purple leaves and fluff. Slightly to the right, a narrow stream ran from somewhere over the far right of the clearing toward the middle, then turned sharply up to the back and beyond the thick undergrowth.
    A single, thin blade of golden light descended at an angle with a multitude of dust motes dancing within it. The beam shone on a circle of gray trees that, together, looked like a single, bigger tree, the top of which disappeared into the canopy above.
    “Come forward, students,” said Mr. Sylva, having already done so himself, as he stood just inside the clearing. “Try to be as quiet and calm as possible,” he continued while we filed in. “Now, as you proceed, take care not to disturb anything above or below you, and do not touch anything. The Bratteans are a very placid species, but they may easily become startled by your presence. I shall lead the way. Wait for my signal and walk carefully up to me and stand next to each other beside me.”
    With that, Mr. Sylva stepped slowly forward, taking care not to send uprooted soil flying everywhere, until he stood a short distance from the clump of trees. He waved us in with his long, root-like fingers, and one by one we ambled toward him.
    As I looked over, I saw tiny shapes moving around the lower half of the circle of trees and at their base. The closer I got, the clearer and better I saw them until I finally reached the semi-circle Mr. Sylva and the rest of the students had created just a few steps away from the trees themselves.
    The Bratteans were no taller than a Sphere ball, had two arms, two legs and a round head with a round nose, all of which made them look like twisty, light brown, and dark yellow-green wooden bulbs. Around their twisty bodies, they had brown vines wrapped around parts of their arms, legs, torsos and faces. Straight, dark green leaves rose above their heads, which seemed far too big for their bodies.
    All around, the Bratteans went about their business, sweeping the floors of the little cabins they’d built around the trunks of the trees, lazing in their tiny hammocks that hung from the outer walls of their houses to the trees themselves, or collecting water from the stream. They walked slowly but steadily, as if daydreaming.
    As Iris tightly squeezed my arm and bit her lip to stop herself from hurling herself at the Bratteans, Mr. Sylva