her. And the dog bounding along ahead of her. We didn't eat them.

A young thing, scrawny and wild. She came without things that bite or burn. No metal. No flame. Just innocence and wonder, and a squelchy red heart, ready to love.

Sated from a recent feast, suffused with a sense of well-being and good nature, curious about the pair... We opened the Way for them. Just a crack. The dog was smart. He spotted it straight away, and came leaping through. No guile, no fear! The girl followed, completely unaware of what she'd just done. This was Springtime.

We watched them. Sang to them. We folded our lush green-ness around them, and nibbled only at her wonder and awe. She 

us. She spoke softly to us, told us we were beautiful. Whenever she laid a hand on us, it was always purposeful, with great care and tenderness. So we didn't nudge her steps to the black earth and bare branches of the Neverglade, where the little wanderers usually must go. We discovered how sweet trust is when it's given freely, and we opened our boughs to her and gave it right back. 

They returned, and we let them, time and again. We listened for her whistle, eager to welcome her. The Way softened; it became easier and easier for them to come through. When she lingered late, light fading, we walked boldly and danced where she could see. This was the fullness of Summer; joyful long days, the kind that feel as though they will go on forever.

Then one night, a troubled young woman who had heard some stories came to us in the dead of night. She brought us what we needed: a life to feed the forest. A live pink thing. We watched her every step, and put moss under her poor feet. She boomed hollow.

Our regular visitor knew, somehow, and her horror was the bite of an axe to us. 

She was deaf to our pleading, going right to the Neverglade and fetching the little human out. She uprooted it from the earth, and spirited it away. She paid dearly for it, and fled covered in her own gooey red sap.

Our Elders, the Nevergreens, they were furious with her, but how could we be? We who loved her so well, we could only see her courage, and wonder at her care for one tiny sapling, when surely there were so 

of them in her world. This was our Autumn, when our boughs drooped, and green lost its lustre.

She abandoned us, then. We could feel the pulse of her anger and fear, and we called to her, hoping to lull her into Summertime once more. But she resisted us, and refused to forget. Hovering always around the little human saplings. 

When she came back to us, the innocence was stripped away. She had a pocketful of firesticks. We smelt them and felt them and tried to close the Way. By now, the Way was too soft, and besides, the old dog was too wily. He found his way through with her at his heels. She marched back to the Neverglade with a terrible purpose. This was Winter.

We shivered in the wind of their conflict; this way, and that. Not knowing whether to fear or to mourn. If she succeeded, 

We knew the moment she took out the firesticks, and we held our breath, sure this was 

Our Elders would Burn, and we would hunger, and wither away. Or perhaps we would Burn with them. That would be worse than the endless winter. We feared it more, because it's outside the natural order of things. 

They held her tight, refused to let her go. If she Burned them, she'd burn, too.

She made a bargain: to bring them human seedlings forever. The Elders wanted healthy females, kicking strong with ribbons of life stretching out in front of them. Like the one she stole. Repaid, again and again. Forever.

females, then. With a strong kicking female 

The woman herself, vibrant, fertile, creative, for her own sake and for the all the potential lives she carries. Her little sapling, so much life in front of her, and she too with all those eggs inside her. 

generations, so much life to feed the forest. 

We'd only ever had such a feast once, and it was 

Sublime to be so sated, shielded from the endless winter, at least for a time. To be overflowing with life, to tingle and thrum with it. Remember: nearly all the ordinary creatures had stopped coming here many lifetimes ago. Without such a sacrifice, we would always be on the brink of withering away, succumbing to winter forever.

Our little one refused them yet again. We were as proud as we were afraid for her. 

The littlest seedlings only, and not just the girl ones. The ones the mothers can't carry.

 They hissed, tightening their grip, angry at her defiance. 

Some now, and a bit each time I come back. Will that be enough?

The Elders fell silent, considering her offer.

I'll bring them to you, I'll do it, I swear. But the children, you let them be. You leave my sisters. And if little kids get lost, you let me bring them home.

Never again would she come with empty pockets and a soft, childish heart. Always with the firesticks, the hard edge of duty, promises made, and difficult choices decided. Always with the salt of regret.

She's old now, though she's lived hardly any time at all, especially compared to us. They have such short lives, these creatures. And to think, she gave all of hers to 

. We didn't bring her to the Neverglade the first time she visited, as we were supposed to... but, look! She gave her lifetime to us just the same.

She must know she is on the brink of her own endless winter. We wait, and watch, and wonder who she will choose as her successor. Forever is what she promised. That was the bargain. Or maybe 

will choose. Like we chose her, by some unhappy accident, all those years ago.

Maybe we will soften the Way again for the right girl-child, and give her a Summertime. We'll Test her in the Autumn, with a sapling, a sibling maybe. We'll quiver with anticipation when the bargain is struck anew in Winter. We'll nod along in the Spring breeze, hope budding that our fate will be secured for another generation.

Content warning: alludes to unwanted pregnancy and abortion

The Speaking of Trees

This is my 3rd entry for the Whispering Woods challenge. Each one can be enjoyed as a stand alone story, or one after the other. Go to the end if you want the content warning. 

We liked her. And the dog bounding along ahead of her. We didn't eat them.

A young thing, scrawny and wild. She came without things that bite or burn. No metal. No flame. Just innocence and wonder, and a squelchy red heart, ready to love.



The Speaking of Trees

This is my 3rd entry for the Whispering Woods challenge. Each one can be enjoyed as a stand alone story, or one after the other. Go to the end if you want the content warning.

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of L.C. Schäfer

About the Creator

L.C. Schäfer

Comments (9)

Upgrade to see comments and join the conversation

Keep reading

The Widow

The Speaking of Trees

This is my 3rd entry for the Whispering Woods challenge. Each one can be enjoyed as a stand alone story, or one after the other. Go to the end if you want the content warning.

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of .css-13w9qce-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-accent);}L.C. Schäfer

About the Creator

L.C. Schäfer

Comments (9)

Upgrade to see comments and join the conversation

Keep reading

The Widow

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of L.C. Schäfer