Eirwen stepped silently across the damp loam, holding her unstrung recurve bow with easy, practiced familiarity.
Eirwen lifted her hand to slow the arborists behind her when the nearest relay root shivered against the neglected grove's floor.
Behind her, three provincial arborists in coarse linen smocks followed her footsteps, their pruning hooks ready at their belts.
The elder arborist carried a wicker basket filled with grafting moss, nutrient pastes, and clean pruning shears.
"These groves served as natural mana conduits centuries before the imperial engineers laid down copper wires," the old man explained in a low voice.
"A healthy willow grove can whisper a message across thirty leagues of mountain forest in less than three heartbeats."
The foundry map led them along a winding game trail, arriving at a sunken grove where colossal willow roots broke the surface.
