Ill at ease with the mode of transport to and from this island in the sky, Fig found herself at a great loss. She wished them not to stay there any longer- the bright, almost obnoxious commotion of the place was unsettling and wearing, and the macabre scene of death had more than soured her determination to remain; but the young Lignea was still more concerned about flying. It was entirely unnatural for any tree larger than a windswept seed to be cast into the sky, and especially aboard the flimsy form of white, powder-clouds. Her heart raced, overwhelmed by the burden of this task given by the elders of Prim’sylva, and confused by the civilization surrounding her. Their two worlds were as different as the wind and water of the earth they now shared, and though her faith remained untwisted, Fig felt as though her heart and mind alike were breaking in two.

They ambled as quickly as slow moving tree-kin could manage, putting fair distance between them and the bustling activity of the village in the valley; and a divide still greater from the corpse where it lay aside. The sun was high, a warm comfort despite the high, cold wind which seemed to rush by with relentless fury, and they found at last a small grove of friendly trees, each scattering playfully their brilliantly coloured blossoms through the tireless gust. Fig approached without caution, they were family after all, and perhaps the only true friends she had to lean on in this chaotic wilderness called Helovia. “There has been a terrible tragedy...” she began, her throat bubbling with grief. “One of them had been slain, they say by their own. It is so hard to believe, I know, but I witnessed the creature’s corpse with my own eyes. It was...

Horrific.”

As tears began to leak slowly from virgin eyes, the Lignea nestled herself closer to her speechless kin and the knotted canopy of her own began to interlock with theirs, an embrace of sorts, far warmer than it might have appeared. More than anything Fig wanted to be home then. She wanted to bask in the ever-warm sunlight of Prym’sylvia, the peace and the quiet of her homeland; where days turned into years, and adventure was left to the wonderful stories of the ancients; where life was slow and without incident, and where there was only harmony between the Lignea and the natural world.

“My duty here is far from complete though,” she continued, the naturally slow drawl of her voice softening suddenly with bleak resolution, “I am yet even to find my Soul Plant. Pray if only you had lips to aid me now, friends... If only you could share with me the secrets of this land so that I might better understand my quest.” Fig smiled weakly, glancing quietly towards the swaying tops of the beautifully delicate Sakuras, and a long sigh fluttered past her horse-like nostrils.

(@[Parelia], @[Ira], @[Kirah])