Fig

The shaggy tree-girl had not ventured back to Sky Island in many weeks. Despite the festive, brilliant atmosphere which seemed to captivate any visitoring, the murder had unsettled her heart and confidence deeply and she had spent most of her time after discovering its gruesome evidence personally, bundled up behind the well guarded border of her home in World’s Edge. Of course she had ventured out on occasion – taking any number of weeks to travel hither or thither, but any time she did seemed to result in still severed flesh and stolen life. Often she prayed to the Gods of Prim’sylva, asking for guidance and more importantly for their cloak of protection so that she might not suffer the same foul fate as those grim souls now scarred through her memories.

Some good had come of her restless searching (still her Soul Plant’s whereabouts remained a mystery). Fig had met many friendly fellows, learned much about their culture, and even from the youngest Rhoa, that a grand school offered greater education to any who cared to enrol – and the young Lignea was more that intrigued. Before that mission however, she had decided to revisit to the Island, and several days after leaving the security of the misty cliff-top forests, she arrived beneath the heavy shadow of the floating spectacle. Like the last time she had come, cloud formed small platforms beneath her hooves and before she had even lifted an inch her young, incredulous eyes had sealed tightly together. She could hardly bear the thought of flying, swishing canopy and branches swaying precariously above as they caught the warm thermals apparently churning where only birds should naturally reach. But again she arrived without incident, and the breath that had been taken fell rapidly from clenched lungs.

The clouds vanished, and Fig was left standing at the top of a vast field of green, a hill above the meandering valley at the centre of which lay an arena and many tents around it. Her face shifted and thick matted locks rolled as the warm wind touched them. After a moment spent considering, she wandered forth towards the valley at a very slow, ambling gait, because striding downhill with a sprawling tree rooted to your spine was no easy task. Even before she reached the town’s centre, the Lignea came upon a curious gathering – a turtle in fact, at the centre of a steadily growing group of Helovians.

A wave of nauseating foreboding flooded her core, but there seemed not to be that mulling grief wherever bodies had lain before them. Carefully she neared, and glossy-green eyes glanced between those standing to view the strange Earth Turtle to their centre. Above him, a great conifer grew and she regarded its ornaments with a curious, smiling eye, lips reflecting the growing sentiment in her soul. Through her body stirred new cheer and her face shed its concern for brightening delight. It seemed the melodious ringing that had echoed right across the island, was coming from this tree, and she watched interestedly the jingle bells and the glistening lights strewn between, for a good long time.