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Life was rarely simple, though those who lived in the sizable town at the base of the mountain rarely found themselves with many troubles. Far from the larger towns that could be found tucked around other valleys in the mountain range, Lightmount was often called a quaint place to live. Like nearly every other town in the range, Lightmount was set up in an orderly fashion. The town center was a large open circle that created a space for markets, festivals, and every other occasion. The houses were closer to small hills in their external appearance, each house tucked beneath a mound of earth that sprouted a garden.

Those that dwelled in the town were a collection of diverse animals, all living in relative peace. Like with any gathered group of individuals, conflicts arose here and there, but they were almost always settled fairly quickly. Some who visit Lightmount or the other towns nearby might call it idyllic. Every animal had a home, a job, and a stable way to provide for the community. Most curious of all, no animal ever seemed to lack the things they needed.

There are no records of where the tree came from, but the town had long since stopped questioning it. A giant pale white tree, with leaves that glinted a golden-flecked green in the sunlight, the Oriscion rested at the top of the largest hill at the base of the towering mountain. Who first found it and how they discovered its gifts are legends written and kept in the private libraries of the priestesses, shared during the annual festivals to those who would listen. The Oriscion was the greatest blessing the town, and many like it within the mountain range had found. Those who approached the tree would find themselves gifted with the thing they needed most at that moment. While it may not always be what they thought they needed, it had never failed those who lived in the town and had helped the citizens live in peace for years. The residents of these blessed towns often found themselves facing the greed of outsiders, and they did their best to protect the blessing that sparked greed in the hearts of many who heard of the trees.

Stones clatter along the gravel path, scattering with each step the canine took. Hand-paws tucked lightly in the pockets of her loose trousers, Rivan sighed as she moved down the road. The peak of spring was here and that always ensured that muddy paw prints were tracked on every surface of the house; honestly she wasn’t sure how some of them ended up where they did. A light huff left her as she thought of just how messy the house had gotten this time. Younger siblings always seemed to be able to make the biggest messes and escape the reality of cleaning them up afterward. Even as she rubbed the back of her neck in frustration, a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

As if they hadn’t made enough of a mess, the trio of troublemakers had ended up breaking the brooms and mop in their game. While she could have gone to the general store, Rivan hated dipping into their supply of extra coins for simple things. Better to save that for festival days. She knew that some found going to the Oriscion tree for simple things such as cleaning supplies a waste of the ancient gifts they had been blessed with, but the doberman wasn’t one to fuss. The tree was there to help them, so why wouldn’t she go to it when she needed help?

White winding stones began to line the edges of the dusty gravel path, unlit candles resting upon them at regular intervals. At night, the priestesses took the time to ensure the path was well-lit for those who might find themselves needing to visit the tree in the dark. Tipping her head back, Rivan took in the glinting sight of the Oriscion tree, the pale bark and gold-flecked leaves nearly blinding in the midday sun.

The trip up the winding path took around ten minutes at a leisurely pace, a term that could only loosely be pinned on the speed at which the canine drifted. Even with taking her time, Rivan found the crest of the hill quickly approaching. The area around the great tree had been paved with slate stones arcing outward from the tree in a half circle. Either side of the little grotto was guarded by large roots that protruded from the earth, creating what seemed like a secluded bubble of the world.

Some members of the town followed the practices of the priestesses, bringing offerings and sitting in silent prayer as they besieged the Oriscion for what they thought they needed. The priestesses delighted in helping decipher the mysteries that sometimes happened when the tree bestowed someone with something unexpected. Each instance was recorded in their libraries to further study the events. Rivan had never been able to fully succumb to that mentality, though she always made sure to leave a small token of gratitude when she did make the trip up here.

Pausing at the edge of the worn stones, Rivan drew in a breath, her hand-paws clasping together behind her head as she shifted back onto her heels. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to bother asking for something as paltry as a new broom and mop. Iif the priestesses saw her marching down the hill with those, she knew they would give her mother passive remarks the next day. Shifting from one paw to the other for another moment or two, the doberman clicked her jaw together in frustration. She was just going to ask the tree for the items and be done with it. As much as she didn’t want to go home and clean up the tiny trio’s tornado aftermath, she’d get grief if she wasted too much time.

Moving into the grotto itself sent a shiver down her spine, the sounds of the world beyond the enclave muffling as she slipped into the sacred space. There was no denying the power that thrummed from the tree, making it almost feel as though it had a beating heart of its own. A slight shiver ran down her back, the fur rising slightly before she took a breath and frowned at herself. It was a tree, a magic tree yes, but still a tree.

Nearly marching across the stones, Rivan dug around in her pocket for the small item she’d pulled from the corner of her shelf. It was a glass marble, crystal clear and glimmering with aqua light as the sun caught it. It was a common belief that the tree favored those who left gifts, and those who failed to show courtesy often found themselves with items lacking in quality. While it had always felt a bit like bribery to her, Rivan had been in the habit of leaving something since she had first visited as a pup.

Rolling the smooth glass between her fingers, she paused, staring at the tree before her. As grand and curious as it was, she had never been able to shake the eerie feeling that she was being watched when she stood before its looming presence. Shaking off the feeling, Rivan knelt on one knee before the curved root that was used most often as an offering dish, and let the marble roll down its side. She watched entranced by the smooth motion of her marble as it moved in ever-slowing ovals toward the center. Slowly Rivan closed her eyes, letting her thoughts shift to the items that she had come to request and trying to keep her mind from wandering.

Eyes closed, she only heard the gentle thump of the object as it was placed in exchange for the marble. She waited for a second thud, something that would signal both a mop and a broom but when none came she sighed and opened her eyes. Blinking rapidly, Rivan examined the object before her lips parted in confusion as she took it in. Just as she’d heard, there was only one object within the ancient curve of the offering bowl; and it was neither a broom nor a mop. Far from anything remotely used for cleaning, the knife that rested in the bowl couldn’t even be called a kitchen knife. The dark leather sheath hid the blade, but from its shape, Rivan could tell it was a finely made trailing point dagger. The curved spine was prominent even with the sheath. Engraved swirls trailed the exposed guard and pommel, curling around the dark leather that wrapped the handle. Curling from the guard and pommel, were curved arcs of the same swirled metal that ensured the wielder's grip.

She didn’t move to grab the weapon, still struck by the seemingly random appearance of it. The Oriscion tree must be broken, and she looked forward to being the root of blame when the next townsanimal came to collect their own item. The gentle crunch of gravel in the distance sent her moving automatically, some part of her mind tugging her to hide the object that surely had been given to her by mistake. Now without anything to present as her token, she would have to come up with some excuse to whoever it was approaching her. The warm leather of the sheath nestled into her short fur where it sat stashed beneath her waistband and shirt and as she finished tucking it away, a voice sounded. Light and melodic, Rivan knew that voice anywhere and hesitated before turning around.

The high priestess Drega was a well-respected canine, her emerald green robes flecked with gold thread imitated the tree behind her. She had never disliked the vizsla, but the warm spring air seemed to chill within the enclave as she moved closer. Plastering a light-hearted smile on her face, Rivan turned all the way and faced the high priestess, walking toward her. Deep into her prayers, Drega did little more than flick her ear in acknowledgment of Rivan as she moved silently past the other canine. Stepping back onto the gravel path, the warmth returned to the air, and the sounds of the world that she hadn’t realized had gone silent resumed.

Looking back over her shoulder, Rivan watched as Drega knelt before the offering bowl, hand-paws slipping into the deep folds of her sleeves. Whatever it was that the priestess was offering up as tribute was concealed from view. Her own hand-paw rose to lightly tap the hilt of the blade through her shirt before she quickly stuffed both of her paws deep into her pockets.

Starting her way down the hill, Rivan couldn’t shake the sense of someone watching her. The feeling from earlier returned with a vengeance that kept her fighting to keep her hocks down. Just what was wrong with the Oriscion tree? Why did it think the thing she needed most was a dagger? The expensive-looking hilt and sheath would certainly fetch a fair price, but the tree would have given her coins if it had wanted her to buy the broom and mop she needed. The part of her mind that lived in the old stories she’d heard her whole life barked about those legends. Harbingers that brought with them the destruction of countries. Creatures that preyed upon lone travelers once the horizon claimed the sun. Before her mind could run wild, Rivan shook her head sharply. The old myths were just that, myths. Stories told to young pups, and kittens to keep them in bed at night.

One final shiver trailed down her spine, sending her whole body shuddering. Looking over her shoulder one last time as she reached the bottom of the hill, Rivan nearly froze as she saw the figure of Drega watching her from the edge of the enclave.