Sage: Whispers Beneath the Roots, The Birth of the Herbalist

Sage had always been drawn to the quiet places, where dew clings to moss and flowers sprout in the dark.

While others searched the Hollow for treasure or signs of power, Sage sought the small, unseen miracles: a sprout breaking through stone, a petal curling toward the dawn. Something about those moments felt sacred, as if the earth itself was whispering secrets meant only for her.

One twilight, she felt a rhythm beneath her paws, a faint pulse, almost like a heartbeat. The forest around her was listening. Guided by instinct, she followed it into a grove where the air shimmered green and gold. A single sapling stood there, trembling though no wind stirred.

Sage knelt beside it.

“You’ve been waiting,” she murmured.

Her voice trembled, but the ground answered.

Roots brushed her fingertips, curling softly like a greeting. Light pulsed through the soil, blooming into patterns of vines and herbs she’d never seen before. She didn’t command them, she understood them. They spoke in warmth, in pulse, in trust.

She stayed there through the night, learning their language. By morning, her paws glowed faintly with pollen that shimmered like starlight. Her touch no longer coaxed growth, it connected it. Every leaf that brushed against her fur carried whispers of healing and harmony.

From that day on, the Hollow recognized her not as a visitor, but as its caretaker. Plants turned toward her as though toward sunlight, and creatures of the realm sought her presence when hurt or weary.

Some say if you walk through the Hollow at dawn, the air hums with her gentle song, not of words, but of life itself.

Sage had found her purpose where others saw only soil, and in doing so, she taught the Hollow how to heal.

By: Brittney Humphrey

November 07th, 2025