Fig

The dismayed Lignea could hardly imagine a world clothed always in night’s darkness; where sunlight was an unusual blessing, and perhaps the warmth that it brought rarer still. Why, it would mean certain death! Skin beneath swaying tendrils of languid root shivered, discomforted by the thought – Fig’s very existence depended on the light and the (she had always presumed) inevitable cycle of seasons. Never had her belly known the weight of a grass meal, fruit or grain, and her tongue never craved such a taste. To feed upon the world’s flora was immoral; it was a lesson she hoped to preach through these awfully corrupt lands, to shift their primitive views for the sake of those seldom noticed, living alongside. Fig drew strength alone from the sun, her glossy, sprawling canopy absorbed and photosynthesised, and she nourished her body with water.

The smaller (in height alone) horse paused, and lifted her dark gaze to the sky. Fig followed naturally and attentively, though her thoughts lingered on unhappily in mentioned darkness; she set a brooding smile upon her lips. What would become of my family? She wondered, relieved at least that the elders had not requested her journey end there. Eyes traced a vacant path around the distant blue arc, not quite able to visualize the delicate morning as anything less beautiful. They found almost frantically the beaming sun to the east, peeking between the gentle sway of towering foliage – and Fig’s lashes shuddered defensively together as her face fell back to earth. She was confident that even a spring storm would find no bearing in such beautiful weather.

Her smaller, burly company was speaking again and the shaggy tree-girl relaxed a hind hoof beneath. “I know of a soldier,” she mentioned brightly. Had not such a considerable weight been set upon her spine, perhaps the enthusiasm might have lifted her clear off the earth. “Murdock, he is called a Protector of the Edge.” She paused then to think, to steady her thoughts so that they might stumble from her lips in better Helovian fashion... “Yes, the Edge is where I call home- it is west of here.” she gestured with a heavily whiskered nose and smiled. “Perhaps there are others like him, or a commander.” Her knowledge of military ranks was few and far between, but she nodded earnestly – absolutely positive that there would be someone at World’s Edge who might be able to talk with this soldier.

“Will you walk that way with me?”

Gullible and kind-hearted, it never crossed Fig’s mind to question motives or history. She figured too, that while the cool of the early day lingered, the journey home might be more comfortable for both – even she wearied sometimes beneath midday heat. If the other accepted her offer, she would guide them through the thinnest groves and sparsest canopies, well off the well beaten paths through the forests between the Threshold and the Edge – where others passed freely, it was much more difficult for her to manoeuvre, but she was not overly concerned about timeframes for the while. If her companion felt better in place, the young Lignea would oblige and settle herself somewhat for whatever conversation might follow. Either way, she drew a long breath and considered the dappled bay’s request.

“Helovia? When I first arrived – like you here today actually!” she chortled heartily... “A horse called Kahula led me back to World’s Edge. She and every other creature I have met there have been so kind and forthcoming. Even when I left to visit my birthplace for many months, they welcomed my return without question; having said all of that, not all who roam these lands are so pleasant.” Poor Fig sighed, visibly upset and swayed on the spot for a moment. “Horrible, unnatural deaths have been occurring. Mangled, beaten corpses are showing up wherever I travel. It is awful – I have never seen anything so morbid.” ...and it was true. In Prim’sylva, the only end of life occurred naturally and respectfully – even the hunter was never greedy, and always gave thanks for his meal. Helovia, as beautiful and fascinating as she truly believed it to be, had a dark side as well. The job ahead seemed so enormous, but Fig was resilient, patient and faithful, and she stepped from beneath such sorrow with a courageous (perhaps overly naive) heart.