The morning mist had crawled across the fields, spinning glistening webs over them as if a cluster of spiders - a venom of spiders - had spent the night building a vast array of traps to ensnare the unwary insects buzzing about before humans stumbled from their beds.

It did, and could, capture nothing, of course. The webs were an illusion, created by moisture in an accidental mirror of one of Nature's most perfect prisons. Perhaps, Nature was so proud of the one, she wanted to ensure the widest audience for her creation. Perhaps it was simply coincidence and the two were unrelated.

All, though, was normal.

Except for one thing.

The silence. A breath held. A thought paused. A world unsure.

And a girl confused.

Where was the whisper?

She stood at the edge of the hedgerow, her head tilted, as if doing so would open the way for sound to flow in easier. It didn't, and she knew it wouldn't, but did so anyway.

The whisper wasn't something she could hear in the same way as one might a song, convincing you to mumble through the chorus. It was deeper. It vibrated within her, strumming her like a chord on a guitar. She welcomed its hum.

She crouched, allowing her fingertips to brush the damp earth. It felt empty, as if it were a void surrounded by mud, and she could sense the lack of substance inside. It echoed the loneliness she'd banished within herself, making its dark pull more insistent. She moved her hand to some newly sprouting primrose, noticing the absence of their citrusy scent. Flowers had always spoken to her, even when people didn't. Especially then. Their voices were often her only comfort. Her only company.

Yet, now, she couldn't hear them.

The silence had its own lure, and she followed it, hoping she might find its source. Her boots sank into the soft ground, making each step feel like a battle against an invisible force. The silence carried with it a stillness that increased as she walked. It gathered around her, dragging her feet further into the mud, trying to prevent her progression. She pressed on, panting by the time she reached the far edge of the field. An old oak stood with one half in the field and the other in the meadow beyond, a threshold between two worlds, or a bridge to something new. Whichever it might be, the tree seemed to serve a purpose, rather than being a simple accident of location.

The oak's roots were thick, with knuckled bends that twisted them into claws digging into the ground. She placed her hand against the trunk. There was a tremor beneath her palm, travelling upwards from below.

Something was waiting.

Between the roots, she saw a dark space just wide enough for her to squeeze through, if she dared. She'd never been one to resist a dare, and didn't shy away from challenges. Such things filled the spaces left by her retreating perception of self. Curiosity laughed at fear, and pushed her on with only momentary hesitation.

The entry point descended gently, becoming a crevice that hugged her as she crawled down. Roots curled around the opening, giving it strength while preventing it from feeling too claustrophobic, not that confined spaces bothered her. The soil was warm and the roots glowed faintly in recognition of this interloper. The air smelled of moss of something much older. Something that stirred a memory without revealing its content.

Soon, the tunnel opened into a small cave. She was able to stand, with the ceiling a few millimetres above her head, though its closeness was imposing, making her feel she had to stoop. The hollow was lit by a soft, pulsating light, emitted from the roots that carved across the walls. They moved down to the floor, and merged in a tangle in the centre, weaving themselves into something that wasn't quite a figure, but nor was it formless.

It shimmered, struggling to match the glow elsewhere, giving it the appearance of embers losing their heat and their life. She felt its presence, knew it, before she understood what it was.

A quiet, ancient awareness, as fragile as the late frosts that still tried to coat her bedroom windows.

She stepped closer, her heart thudding. Anticipation? Fear? The spirit – she had no other word for the presence – did not speak. It had no need to. She knew it should be brighter. It should be intense, blinding so she'd be unable to look directly at it.

The dimness told her everything. It was trapped, held in a spell it couldn't break alone.

She reached out, wanting to touch the gnarled collection, but her hand paused before making contact, or was paused. There was resistance, pushing back against her. She felt its warmth, stirring against her skin. It was sluggish, as if waking from a long sleep, one that had gone on for longer than it should. The spirit's consciousness brushed gently against her own, shy and curious. She felt it recognise her awkwardness, her inner quiet and her outer reticence. She could tell it saw her as not weak because of these things. It saw her as familiar.

The warmth grew, not in temperature, but in depth. The roots shifted, acknowledging the connection. The spirit was waiting, but she had no idea what she was meant to do. She only knew, down here and with it, the silence and the emptiness where the flowers' voices should have been, were things from the world above. Here, they were gone. Not replaced, but no longer an absence.

She closed her eyes and pushed her hand against the spirit's reluctance, her fingers touching the roots, which moved in response. Rather than recoil and open her eyes, she let the slow, patient rhythm enter her. As it filled her being, it matched her own rhythm and, together, it felt like the world's heartbeat.

The glow brightened enough to be seen through her eyelids, and she opened her eyes again.

She could feel the spirit gathering itself, awakening and preparing. It was using her for strength while taking none of her own. Instead, she was invigorated by the transformation. She was special, it told her. She moved gently, thoughtfully, and didn't try to force the world, or anyone else, into being anything it wasn't

Light swelled around her, brilliant but kind. Pulses aligned, the two shared a breath, then shared a rebirth. She felt it urging upwards.

It was time.
She turned towards the tunnel and began to climb.

The ascent felt very different to the descent. The roots shifts behind her, pulling together, along with the soil, to give her something to push against. The glow dimmed as she moved past it, settling back into the earth, where it belonged. Her mind was clear, no longer small and fenced in. Rather, it was vast and free. Her thoughts were unhurried, and she knew she didn't need to understand everything – or anything that had happened. She only needed to move.

As she neared the surface, the light surrounding her brightened, spurring her on. Pressing her hand against the thin layer separating her from the world, she pushed.

The instant she broke through, the world sighed. A warm breeze of relief swept the planet, radiating out from her location.

Light spilled over her in a rush, the rays eager to touch her. As she climbed out, the pulse within her was released, rippling across the field. In that second, three heartbeats – hers, the spirit's and the world's - were synchronised.

Tight buds along the hedgerow burst open with an eruption of colour. Birdsong filled the air in a chorus to celebrate her arrival. And not just hers.

She stepped forward into a new world, and it morphed around her. Colours were stronger. The citrus smell of primroses mixed with myriad others to create a heady aroma that brought a wide smile to an inexperienced face.

The voices of the flowers returned in a soft, familiar murmur. She welcomed them, but knew they were no longer her only companions. They were simply part of something – a life – she finally belonged to. She hadn't needed to change or fit in. She just had to be exactly who she was.

Spring, now released, unfolded around and through her.