Echo of the Pines “

In the heart of a vast, whispering forest where ancient pine trees stood like sentinels of time, a girl named Liora was raised not by humans, but by wolves.

She had no memory of how she came to be there. The pack had found her as a baby wrapped in a tattered cloak, left at the base of the Mother Tree—a towering pine whose roots were said to run as deep as memory itself. The wolves, guided by their matriarch, Niva, accepted her without question. She was neither feared nor pitied. She was simply one of them.

Liora grew wild and wordless. She ran barefoot through mossy trails, drank from cold mountain streams, and learned to listen—to the tremble of the earth before rain, to the rustle of prey in the underbrush, to the distant calls of owls. And most of all, to the wolves. Though she could not speak in human tongue, she learned to howl, growl, and gesture in the silent language of the forest.

She was happiest when the wind carried the scent of pine needles and the sky blushed gold at dusk. Her voice was never used. She had nothing to say to a world she did not know.

But the forest knew her.

And one day, it answered.

It began with a dream. Liora saw a clearing deep in the forest she’d never dared to explore. In her dream, the trees moved aside and whispered her name—not in growls or howls, but in words. Real words.

She woke with her heart thudding like the wings of a trapped bird. The pack was still sleeping, curled beneath a blanket of leaves and fur. She rose silently and followed the tug of something ancient and calling.

Hours passed, maybe days. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but something deeper pulled her forward. At last, she stepped into the clearing from her dream. At the center stood the Mother Tree. Its bark shimmered faintly, as if touched by starlight even in daylight.

Liora placed a hand against the tree’s trunk.

A voice—not hers—rose from her throat.

Not a howl. Not a growl.

Words.

“I am here,” she said, her voice hoarse and broken from years of silence.

The forest listened. The wind hushed. The birds paused mid-song.

And then, from the depths of the woods, something stirred.

The earth trembled. Roots shifted. The forest itself awakened. For Liora had done something no human had done in centuries—she had spoken the True Words. Words not taught by humans, but gifted by the earth itself.

The trees bent gently toward her. The wolves, who had tracked her quietly, stood in a wide circle. Niva stepped forward, her silver fur catching the sunlight. She did not bow. Instead, she howled—not with warning, but with wonder.

The girl who spoke.

That night, the stars seemed brighter. Liora sat beneath the Mother Tree, her head resting against Niva’s side. The clearing pulsed with quiet magic. It was then she understood—her voice had been waiting for the forest to call it forth.

But peace never lingers long when the outside world begins to sniff at the edge of the wild.

Days later, the scent of iron and smoke invaded the air. Humans. Loud, armored, afraid. They came with axes and fire, determined to clear paths and build roads. They saw no magic in the woods, only obstacles.

Liora stood at the edge of their camp one night, unseen. She watched their fire flicker. Heard their metal clink. Felt their fear of the dark that surrounded them.

And she knew: she must speak not only for herself, but for the forest.

She returned to the wolves. They gathered in silence. No commands were given. They simply knew. That night, under a full moon, Liora sang.

It was not a human song. Nor was it a wolf’s. It was something in between—an echo of the pines, the hush of the leaves, the wisdom of stone and root. The wolves joined her, their howls layered like wind and thunder.

The sound traveled.

Not just through the air, but through the ground. Through bark and bone. Through the hearts of men.

The next morning, the humans were gone. No signs of struggle. No fallen trees. Only a strange, reverent stillness, as if they had simply remembered something long forgotten and left quietly.

Liora never returned to the world of men. She didn’t need to.

She had found her voice, and with it, her place—not as a lost child of humanity, but as the speaker of the forest. The one who could walk between two worlds.

And when travelers sometimes claim to hear a voice echoing through the pine trees—soft, strong, and ancient—they say it’s the wind.

But the wolves know better.

It is Liora . The girl who spoke with wolves. The echo of the pines …