Fig

Again they returned to the meadow, and sweat leaked in snaking rivers through the thick, black coat hidden beneath blankets of root. “Laedere...” she breathed heavily and exhaustion prickled black and white stars behind her dead-weight lashes. “I am poorly suited to errands like these. I beg you, if we are given another, please let us not stray far from this spot.” The tree-girl’s thick knees trembled wearily, pushed to the brink, and her expression could no longer feign enthusiasm. Lignea – the Arborun among them – were fashioned by the Gods of Prim’sylva to dwell amid the oldest of the planet’s forests; whispering of times past with ancient timber humming ballads to both saplings and children alike - and preserving equilibrium, tranquillity.

As her strength wavered, not even the cycle of the burning sun could restore her and the glossy emerald foliage her body plant wore, began to wilt. Still, Laedere’s support seemed resilient and while energy faded, the foundations of a sturdy friendship seemed only to harden.

Fig followed the tide of horses as they moved to and from the God of the Earth (the ship now larger and grander, consequence of his labour), and they arrived finally to receive further news – new instruction – the rains would be enough to warrant retrieval of Helovia’s finest flora. A grim wave set over the tree-girl, though she smiled magnanimously to the deity she barely knew. How could any here make a decision of such magnitude...? Thoughts turned to their diet, the callous manner of which they shredded new growth for the sake of their gluttonous appetites. These creatures were Neanderthal!

For some time she dithered in place.

Panic unleased the floodgates holding back adrenaline, and the hormone surged like rapid wildfire through her core. As she came too – pulled from her fretful coma by the song of a thousand unchecked voices – her warm brown gaze glazed, overwhelmed and stricken by pitiless guilt. There was just no way possible for her to visit the furthest corners, to account for every tree, every shrub; the many grass races that cushioned trampling steps. A fathomless sigh erupted from tense lungs and she began to wander through the field in a helpless and hopeless state. “There is no way...” she began, visibly distressed. “This place... Helovia, it is far crueller than my heart can bear. The Gods, these creatures... how can I ever help them?” The words were intended neither for Laedere or the spirits of her homeland in particular – she had long come to terms with her isolation from their affect.

And then it dawned...

“My Soul Plant...” she part-choked.

Knees clicked audibly as she swivelled to face her pale winged friend. Still the population swarmed around them like bees to their queen, but this time Fig paid them no notice. “Laedere! However am I going to find it?!” She knew well the tales of old Prim’sylvan lore that told of Lignea - failed protectors – perishing with the life of their Soul Plant. Eyes danced between the lovely gaze of the Pegasus, but all they saw was terror in the situation unfolding. “Surely it is still too small to breathe through a flood – why else would His people be gathering cuttings...” A molten tear rolled from the corner of her closing eye.