During her years of captivity, Nira had wanted nothing more than to escape the breeding camps. Never again did she want to see the hated face of the Dobro Designate, or the succession of horrific breeding partners. Back then, she had gazed longingly through the fences out across the sparsely populated landscape, wishing she could go home to the worldforest . . . just wanting to be alone.
Now, though, she had spent long months in utter isolation, speaking to no one except for a brief taunting exchange with Udru’h. And he was no companion that she wanted to have. Mercifully, the Designate had left her to her island—her own calm universe.
Alone, she could watch the clouds, listen to the waves, feel the warm wind on her face. Nira walked among strange fernlike trees that grew from squat trunks in the island’s sandy soil. All around her, the giant lake extended in watery blue emptiness to the horizon, though she knew the shore was out there somewhere. The stirring of birds and the rustle of leaves comforted her, as they would any green priest. She tried to hear words in the whisper of foliage, but these trees were not connected in any way to the worldforest mind.
Sometimes she attempted to send out a call through these surrogate trees, but received back only a resounding silence—just as when she’d desperately tried to shout for help through the scrubby hillside trees during a brush fire. Sadly, Dobro’s plants and forests had no life of their own. They simply grew, went to seed, and died, retaining no memory as the worldtrees did.
Nevertheless, as Nira walked around on her island, traversing the limited paths from one shore to another, she spoke aloud to the trees. The plants remained unresponsive, but she could fantasize that they were diligently listening after all, but did not know how to answer. Her voice was soothing and gentle, and she never found herself at a loss for anything to say. Speaking with the island foliage kept Nira sane, her thoughts sharp.
Perhaps, far off on the other side of the world, Osira’h could sense that she was still alive. It was too much for Nira to hope, after the guards had nearly beaten her to death, brutally severing the connection she’d shared with her Princess. She was no longer able to feel the thoughts of the little girl. Would Osira’h even think to look for her? Somehow, perhaps in dreams, their thoughts might connect. . . .
Though she had a small measure of peace here, Nira felt empty. She hoped she’d given her daughter enough information to make her question the Dobro breeding schemes and the dark plans Udru’h had for her, but she didn’t know what the girl could possibly do about it.
She was also dismayed to know that all the other human captives remained in the breeding camp, every day abused by their Ildiran masters. Worst of all, those other humans had accepted their lot. Generation after generation, they’d been raised to believe that this was the natural order of the human race, that this was their way of life. They all underwent the same awful experimentation, but only Nira had frantically resisted. The others did not know any better.
And now she was here, discarded but kept in reserve. It took her a long while to understand why the Dobro Designate hadn’t simply killed her out of hand. He must still have plans to use her as a hostage, as leverage. Over Jora’h? Was the Designate keeping her for his own protection? Her only hope of being rescued was to remain valuable to Udru’h.
She waited day after day on the island, praying that Jora’h might find her. She clung to the slim thread of hope that Osira’h understood everything and might soon discover a way to help all the captives. . . .
Nira told all these things to the island trees. If she ever returned to Theroc, she would have a wealth of tales and experiences to share with the genuine worldtrees—and they, at least, would listen.