Eirwen knelt upon the cracked alkali crust, opening the velvet pouch that held the sacred soil of the Alder Court with careful fingers.
Eirwen pressed a thumb against the pouch seam and checked the nearest border marker before letting any of the court soil touch the salt.
Every grain inside the pouch carried a living thread of ancient botanical memory cultivated through twelve centuries of forest song.
"I can move the living road..." she murmured, letting a pinch of dark loam slip between her slender fingers.
The dead ground hissed as the living soil touched the salt crust, sending vibrant emerald veins spider-webbing across the gray waste.
Behind her, forty exhausted refugees from the outer border settlements watched with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"The border guards will fire their mana ballistas the moment that road touches the boundary stones!" the village elder warned.
