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08-08-2014, 10:31 AM
The fall always brings a flurry of change to the forest, from the russet hues of the once green leaves and the now quiet songs of the few birds that have not flown away to warmer climates. The hibernating creatures on in their last days, the others collecting what foraging there is to be had to prepare for the months of snow, and deep in the heart of the old, weathered forest, something even more wondrous than even the normal ticking of nature’s clock stirs and prepares for the freeze.
A tree stands in the midst of a clearing, branches warped by the winds that butt against its rough trunk, bowed as if an old man beaten down by time. To some, it is a wonder that the tree survives, a large mass of roots rising from the earth where the tree was once almost lifted from the earth, bending and bowing together to create a tangled mass of nooks and cubbies amidst the foundation of the oak – to others, it is a tree that has only survived for one reason, the roots and the notches all signs that point to why it seems as if the tree breathes and watches those who wander past it.
As you approach in the glimmer of twilight, the light fading from the heavens and a faint mist rising from the hot earth as the air cools above it, the reddening leaves stir with a life that is not created by a breeze that you can feel; they flutter and flit, slowly at first, then faster and faster, as if a mass of many thousands of wings.
And then the leaves begin to glow, sparkles trailing down from the tips of the fluttering things that move with no wind, until the tree seems to be coursing with a magical power and the air is filled with the sound of the leaves beating against the stagnant air. Light filters through the mist around the clearing, and in a final uproar of noise, the fairies alight from their hiding places and flutter about the leaves that had been hidden beneath their bodies; from the roots pour out dozens of small children and the old fae who watch them while the others sleep.
Suddenly, the clearing is alive, and the reason that the wind beaten tree still survives becomes evident as the fairies set to work on maintaining their home. Dead leaves are removed, withering branches tended to with a coating of glimmering dust, and scouts flit out into the woods to return with moss and other mulch to pack down against the roots that are too far removed from the earth, ensuring their home receives enough nutrition to survive for many more years to come.
They have lived in this tree, the Clan of the Crippled Clearing, for nearly four hundred years, having witnessed the darkness and terrors that swept the land around them and survived despite the trails of being small and easily forgotten. Fiercely protective of their tree, they are not unkind to travelers so long as they don’t pose a threat to their home – so long as you act kind they will likely answer any questions you might have of them.
Though they might ask a few hundred questions back.
A tree stands in the midst of a clearing, branches warped by the winds that butt against its rough trunk, bowed as if an old man beaten down by time. To some, it is a wonder that the tree survives, a large mass of roots rising from the earth where the tree was once almost lifted from the earth, bending and bowing together to create a tangled mass of nooks and cubbies amidst the foundation of the oak – to others, it is a tree that has only survived for one reason, the roots and the notches all signs that point to why it seems as if the tree breathes and watches those who wander past it.
As you approach in the glimmer of twilight, the light fading from the heavens and a faint mist rising from the hot earth as the air cools above it, the reddening leaves stir with a life that is not created by a breeze that you can feel; they flutter and flit, slowly at first, then faster and faster, as if a mass of many thousands of wings.
And then the leaves begin to glow, sparkles trailing down from the tips of the fluttering things that move with no wind, until the tree seems to be coursing with a magical power and the air is filled with the sound of the leaves beating against the stagnant air. Light filters through the mist around the clearing, and in a final uproar of noise, the fairies alight from their hiding places and flutter about the leaves that had been hidden beneath their bodies; from the roots pour out dozens of small children and the old fae who watch them while the others sleep.
Suddenly, the clearing is alive, and the reason that the wind beaten tree still survives becomes evident as the fairies set to work on maintaining their home. Dead leaves are removed, withering branches tended to with a coating of glimmering dust, and scouts flit out into the woods to return with moss and other mulch to pack down against the roots that are too far removed from the earth, ensuring their home receives enough nutrition to survive for many more years to come.
They have lived in this tree, the Clan of the Crippled Clearing, for nearly four hundred years, having witnessed the darkness and terrors that swept the land around them and survived despite the trails of being small and easily forgotten. Fiercely protective of their tree, they are not unkind to travelers so long as they don’t pose a threat to their home – so long as you act kind they will likely answer any questions you might have of them.
Though they might ask a few hundred questions back.
