My father and I were both born beneath trees.
Eik was born between a mighty oak tree. “The tree that birthed the world,” is what he called it. I never took that for a fact, but it was as good a story as any. I don’t know where this understanding came from, but for as long as I can remember I understood clearly how myth was born. Sometimes I even dreamed of fashioning myself in this way. I saw how a spark of truth could take to flame, and how easy it was to find and nurture an ember. I could be a myth, if I wanted. Or a fable, a fairytale, a god. I sat on this knowledge, a dragon with her gleaming treasure. I bided my time. I was always so very patient. It might be because I had oak roots in my heart, taken hold from a cutting of my father’s.
Avesta and I were born beneath the church tree on the shores of Vitreus Lake. It was storming, and the glass leaves danced together like windchimes. A summoning song. Perhaps even a battle cry. That night the thunder was more of a feeling than a sound, a fist slamming into the ground and wiggling up my fragile little bones. Tearing hairline cracks into them where roots would take hold. I had church tree roots in my heart, and their eternal leaves would be a rainbow of sea glass and song.
I always loved trees, for they felt like kin to me. I felt so privileged that I could hear their whispers, bits and pieces of their many stories. They were always so pleased to have an audience. Of course, I loved the ocean too, with all its fish and whales and sand, and I loved the earth, with all its dirt and mud and worms, and I loved the sky, with all its stars and clouds and colors. I was very drawn to the things so tragically considered “inanimate,” and for someone with roots in her heart I certainly had my head far far up in the clouds.
The day I met Cern was a day of firsts for me— although my life at that point was a never-ending list of firsts, so it wasn’t saying much. It was the first time I had strayed so far from home. The first time I met the great forest they named Viride. The first time I spoke to a tree. I was not very deep into the forest when I stumbled across him. Without sister by my side I was slow, painfully slow. I took the time to brush my muzzle or my shoulder in greeting against everything I met. And I met a lot of things. Trees, mostly, but also grasses, flowers, mushrooms (those I was wary of, and less likely to actually touch). Insects and small animals did not get close enough for me to touch, but we would look at each other with what I thought (maybe it was hope? In hindsight the two look so similar) was understanding.
It was quite natural that we should meet in the birch grove, for I was wary as a deer and kept my distance from any discernible creatures equal to or greater than my size. I was not here for conversation. But he was not discernible, not when he did not wish to be. I almost ran into him, but I was not quite that oblivious. We met eyes, mine deep blue and his bright orange. I recall the way the steam rose from my lips when I said “oh.” It was fall, almost winter, and in my deep focus I had forgotten to be cold. “Um. Hi.” I did not think he would get me in trouble... but you never knew, when it came to adults, and I prepared myself to run.
@Cernunnos
