Grass wasn't safe. She felt her breath catch in her chest as she ran, listening for the sound of people behind her. She could not tell if the whistle and thud was pursuit or animals in the grass. All was alien. Strange.
And then a lone shadow appeared, long and lean with branches curving in the dusk sky. She let out a sigh, wanted to slow but was certain that if she did, she would be caught.
So she ran for the next shadow and the next until they gathered around her. Tall, long and solid. Their bark rough on her hand as she stumbled, caught herself.
Here she could move! She leaped over roots and underbrush. She was comforted by the sounds of the night birds and buzzing insects. Here she knew what it meant when the night sounds stopped. She clamored up a tree and watched the lithe shadow of a predator stalk below her. Nestled amid boughs and leaves she realized that her pursuers would have no knowledge to look up.
She smiled, sank against the welcome tree, consoled by the forest's very presence. Here she waited, watched, while the rhythm of her breath calmed and the searing in her chest abated.
They came thundering and crashing through the underbrush. Calling in the harsh grass-lander tongue. They sent men with spears this direction and that, but none looked up.
One such man headed for the forest heart. She sat up straight as a sapling. Her people.
She followed him through the trees, leaping from one steady branch to the other, moving as only a forest nymph could.
Below her he bumbled through the forest and into the clearing where her people lived. He stopped in the center, spear pointed at the canopy, dark with night. He was spotted by moonlight, catching the strong curve of jaw the defensive stance in the empty space.
He called something, loud and harsh. Greeting? Warning?
It didn't matter. Here, in the trees, she was strong.
She swung from a branch and landed neatly on her feet, a yard away.
"Nymph." That word she knew. He leveled his spear at her and she raised her hand.
"No," she said in her own language, uncertain how much he would understand. "I will not be captive. Not again."
He scowled, and she realized he knew nothing. She probably didn't even need to reveal herself. The man couldn't spot the lights in the trees where nymph and dryad lived. Now that didn't matter.
He flew at her, spear in hand, and she dodged. He shifted his grip and redirected the spear. She danced backward and then up and over. As a child of the forest, she was stronger here. Her innate magic came from a connection to the trees and animals. It made her feel alive, but out there, in the grasslands she moved sluggishly. She couldn't leap, she couldn't dance, she couldn't...
He spun the spear around and landed a jab at her knee with the butt.
She heard a snap, like a twig underfoot. She breathed in the forest and touched the knee with her hand. A soft glow enveloped knee and fingertips. The man stopped where he stood. The knee healed. Another thing she could only do here.
He frowned. Pointed at the once-broken bone. "Didn't do that out there," he said. He spoke grass-lander, but as she took in deep breaths she somehow was able to understand. Perhaps she didn't even know all of the abilities the forest gave her. Could she be understood as well?
"Can't. Only here."
He dropped the spear. "We need magic."
"Why?"
He pointed at her knee. "Healing."
"You need healing?"
"We are stricken. Many die. Ill."
Even though they both understood each other they were so used to the language gap that they fell on simple, halting speech.
"You would have killed me for the magic."
"We saw no choice."
"Ask for help?"
"I think I am the first to actually talk to one of you."
"So perhaps, then, you can be the messenger. Go and ask to represent your people, and I will gather the leaders of mine. Let us handle this as trade and good will and end the death, the war, that has come from not trying to talk to one another."
He bowed his head. "I will try."
"As shall I. Perhaps a trade won't work. Perhaps there are too many dead stacked up between our peoples. Still, I will do my best. It is all we can do."
"What is your name?" He asked.
"I cannot tell you that. Call me Forest Child of the Grove, for that is where we met."
"I am Aven," He said. "And I will be back."
"Till then, Aven," she said and watched as he became another shadow against the canvas of trees. Only then did she turn to the lights he had missed and slip through a doorway he wouldn't recognize. No grass-lander would. But when she sank into the moss and breathed in the scent of fresh soil, she knew she was safe. She was home.
And then a lone shadow appeared, long and lean with branches curving in the dusk sky. She let out a sigh, wanted to slow but was certain that if she did, she would be caught.
So she ran for the next shadow and the next until they gathered around her. Tall, long and solid. Their bark rough on her hand as she stumbled, caught herself.
Here she could move! She leaped over roots and underbrush. She was comforted by the sounds of the night birds and buzzing insects. Here she knew what it meant when the night sounds stopped. She clamored up a tree and watched the lithe shadow of a predator stalk below her. Nestled amid boughs and leaves she realized that her pursuers would have no knowledge to look up.
She smiled, sank against the welcome tree, consoled by the forest's very presence. Here she waited, watched, while the rhythm of her breath calmed and the searing in her chest abated.
They came thundering and crashing through the underbrush. Calling in the harsh grass-lander tongue. They sent men with spears this direction and that, but none looked up.
One such man headed for the forest heart. She sat up straight as a sapling. Her people.
She followed him through the trees, leaping from one steady branch to the other, moving as only a forest nymph could.
Below her he bumbled through the forest and into the clearing where her people lived. He stopped in the center, spear pointed at the canopy, dark with night. He was spotted by moonlight, catching the strong curve of jaw the defensive stance in the empty space.
He called something, loud and harsh. Greeting? Warning?
It didn't matter. Here, in the trees, she was strong.
She swung from a branch and landed neatly on her feet, a yard away.
"Nymph." That word she knew. He leveled his spear at her and she raised her hand.
"No," she said in her own language, uncertain how much he would understand. "I will not be captive. Not again."
He scowled, and she realized he knew nothing. She probably didn't even need to reveal herself. The man couldn't spot the lights in the trees where nymph and dryad lived. Now that didn't matter.
He flew at her, spear in hand, and she dodged. He shifted his grip and redirected the spear. She danced backward and then up and over. As a child of the forest, she was stronger here. Her innate magic came from a connection to the trees and animals. It made her feel alive, but out there, in the grasslands she moved sluggishly. She couldn't leap, she couldn't dance, she couldn't...
He spun the spear around and landed a jab at her knee with the butt.
She heard a snap, like a twig underfoot. She breathed in the forest and touched the knee with her hand. A soft glow enveloped knee and fingertips. The man stopped where he stood. The knee healed. Another thing she could only do here.
He frowned. Pointed at the once-broken bone. "Didn't do that out there," he said. He spoke grass-lander, but as she took in deep breaths she somehow was able to understand. Perhaps she didn't even know all of the abilities the forest gave her. Could she be understood as well?
"Can't. Only here."
He dropped the spear. "We need magic."
"Why?"
He pointed at her knee. "Healing."
"You need healing?"
"We are stricken. Many die. Ill."
Even though they both understood each other they were so used to the language gap that they fell on simple, halting speech.
"You would have killed me for the magic."
"We saw no choice."
"Ask for help?"
"I think I am the first to actually talk to one of you."
"So perhaps, then, you can be the messenger. Go and ask to represent your people, and I will gather the leaders of mine. Let us handle this as trade and good will and end the death, the war, that has come from not trying to talk to one another."
He bowed his head. "I will try."
"As shall I. Perhaps a trade won't work. Perhaps there are too many dead stacked up between our peoples. Still, I will do my best. It is all we can do."
"What is your name?" He asked.
"I cannot tell you that. Call me Forest Child of the Grove, for that is where we met."
"I am Aven," He said. "And I will be back."
"Till then, Aven," she said and watched as he became another shadow against the canvas of trees. Only then did she turn to the lights he had missed and slip through a doorway he wouldn't recognize. No grass-lander would. But when she sank into the moss and breathed in the scent of fresh soil, she knew she was safe. She was home.
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