my lungs are fresh & yours to keep

As he passed each tree, Dread's scowl grew deeper. Would scowling turn these particular trees into the right ones? Hopefully, though he knew better than to expect it. Was he even looking in the right place? Halo said that they were out here, and here specifically. She'd had luck in the past, but had the trees gotten sick and died off since her last visit? Did trees get sick? Maybe that was a question for the healer when he returned. Dread would ask her, actually, that was a good question now that he considered it. He sighed deeply, turning to zero in on the next tree. The leaves on this one, too, were wrong. Maybe it was a wild goose chase.

It's only when he hears the call that the Fatalis boy realizes. He's not alone out here. The trees had done well to dampen the sound of footsteps, and the spring breezes hadn't been in his favor. What did the voice... say? Dread shoots a questioning look to Roan, who shrugs back. Neither of them knew, so Dread calls back simply. "What?" He stood still for a moment, trying to sort out the direction of the sound. A weird game of Marco Polo within the Willows, and he's... well, now he's interested. A stranger out here, among the marshy ground and the trees. A stranger, but who?

"Dread Fatalis"