Fig

Fig observed the God of the Earth’s kind invitation to step up aboard the grand wooden ark with a warm smile, broad and curious. Initially the young Lignea had felt little inclined to partake in the unfolding event – she had been dismayed by both the concept and sight of living trees being bent, twisted and fashioned into the shape of a hull. The tasks had been challenging both physically, mentally and spiritually, but along the way she had forged the foundations of a lasting friendship with Laedere from Hidden Falls. It was from the pale Pegasus that the tree-girl had drawn strength enough to continue.

Utterly exhausted, and touched to the core by the great God’s benevolent aura, she ambled willingly along thick timber planks to the ship’s bow where a generously sized room (even able to accommodate the wide canopy of her Body Plant), had been prepared for them. With mud from the last task crusting still over her shaggy, tousled exterior, Fig turned stunned brown eyes first to her friend, then to the God of the Earth whom she thanked graciously and humbly. “Thank you, sir.” Once left along, she stepped forward and cast an incredulous gaze about their accommodation. I can hardly believe it... she whispered, well beneath her breath.

Perhaps not all of Helovia’s Gods were as terrible as the Moon.

A single day passed, though she barely noticed the crackling, flashing, wild electricity; while thunder rolled in deafening waves through the vast blackened heavens, and torrents of rain poured to cleanse the earth of sin, Fig slept soundly and safe, bedded upon soft, fresh grass; lulled by the intricate and beautiful song of whales. It was only as the weather cleared - when dawn leaked first light upon the new world - that the Lignea awakened, and she disembarked with Laedere in turn, watching wonderstruck as rainbows and butterflies welcomed them home.

“Perhaps we can walk north together?” mellow tones proposed eagerly as eyes followed bewilderedly a glistening pod of finned creatures, until they vanished out of sight. She was not ready yet to part with the closest friend thus far found in Helovia. It was shame they lived with such a vast distance between (it was enormous for the tree-girl who took twice the time to travel of any native), but all the same she doubted it would limit their bond. And so it was agreed that she and Laedere would journey to the top of Thistle Meadow and break only when the snowy mountains beyond blocked their passage.

Fig led through the forest as the meadow melted beneath cool shade – it was better that she did, because bouncing limbs of her own tangled often where old surviving boughs danced low to greet them. Relief flooded her mind too as she wondered about her Soul Plant. It was obvious that the strongest flora of this world had survived to thrive on, and amongst their numbers was rooted her other half; without one, the other would surely perish.

It was nestled amongst old knotted roots of one tree, that the Lignea found something unexpected. She asked Laedere to pause, and come nearer so that they might investigate together her discovery. One orb, shaped like the egg of an avian but larger, drew her interest ever nearer and she mused concernedly to her friend about its vulnerability. It seemed absurd that it had survived the Earth’s fierce cleanse, but she felt compelled to retrieve it and set it snug beneath the safe grip of her own roots, high upon her shoulder. The egg warmed against Fig’s skin, and unbeknownst to either, life pulsed beneath its shell; the creature would in time learn the rhythm of her heart and the tune of her soul.

Not long after, another like it was discovered.

Many days later, the friends arrived before the jagged face of the northern mountain range, and Fig turned at last to bid Laedere goodbye. “We will meet again soon.” she hummed certainly, and smiled broadly. Eyes glanced to the other mare’s egg fondly before whiskered lips turned to brush the supple wood blanketing her own. “I will pray for their safety, too. May we return them to the wild when they grow healthy and strong.” She only presumed they were feathered species – perhaps even scaled. Either way her sound moral code looked forward to their return to owed freedom. With a small tear shed and a fond nose extended, the tree-girl said farewell and turned west, to go home.