It had taken Fig, the slow moving, heavy Lignea, an exceptional amount of time to cross from Helovia’s westernmost forest to the eastern seaboard. It had certainly taken at least two moons worth of cautious ambling. She remained keen to avoid the criminals mentioned by Ira on the island and was concerned with the whereabouts of her soul plant (and protecting the flora she passed by along the way); but most importantly, it had become apparent that she needed to find for herself a place of sanctuary – a home here in this dangerous world called Helovia.

The diluted winter sun shining above held not the same burning intensity that she was used to. In Prim’sylva, the forests which her Arborun kin mostly dwelt throughout, there was no such cold as this which coated yellowing grass in thick, wet blankets of white; no bitter wind snaked viciously to tear delicate foliage from wilting, tired evergreens; and the sunlight which fed her, fuelled both her determination and strength like perhaps the helpless grass did for the folk of this land, held the same glorious passion throughout the whole length of every year. Fig’s own canopy grew weary, harassed by wind and sudden blizzards, but she made certain to fill often with icy water whenever she found the opportunity, and for the time being she remained well intact.

Long, thick feathered legs left in her wake a deep trench, but she remained blissfully unaware, quite ignorant about the predators who stalked the four legged when their natural game lay in hibernation – Fig had never before felt the curse of prey; she did not know terror. It was hard going, ploughing on through knee high slush, but she made good progress (from her easygoing, unhurried perspective). As one day rolled into the next and then another again, she found herself by the south-eastern rim of another forest, one that she remembered fondly. Old firs, cedars and many more of their coniferous cousins rose to greet her, casting webs of shadow across the still clean, untouched snow where it lay by her hooves.

“Well hello again.” The young Lignea smiled warmly and sincerely.

“Yes, you are right. It has been many seasons since last I was here. I was called from my quest to return to Prim’sylva for a short time (or so she believed it to be).” The tireless wind stirred the pointed tips of the ancient trees and the shade danced around her. Fig assumed quickly that they were pleased to see her again and stepped at once beneath the straggliest of their lower branches - right away the snow thinned across the earth. “For...give me,” she added suddenly, grunting a little as her own lush canopy collected between theirs thus making any effort to continue a greater task than she had predicted, “I am afraid we have grown!”

And so the young Lignea continued at still a slower pace, though she was hardly unhappy to be twisted between the comforting embrace of fellow trees.

Open to any at all, and @[Murdock]