Fig

Fig held her breath, and her stomach twisted into one hundred metaphorical knots.

Eyes drowsy with grief watched the ebb and flow of gathering horses. They were drawn to death like bees to a flower, she had seen the same too many times now, and it both disturbed the young tree-girl and filled her with terrible sadness.

What is this place? she prayed grimly, searching the blue heavens. A world like this, with pain and dishonesty, death, is no place for a Lignea... Every inch of her being wanted to turn, to slip from the boundary of the island and away through the Threshold forest – never to return. But Fig was yet to find her Soul Plant. She was becoming desperately concerned for both of their wellbeing, for if one were to endure the malice ripe through Helovia, the other would surely suffer and that was her greatest worry.

There was no sign from above, and as her soft green gaze settled back across the billowing crowd, she sighed deeply.

A sudden lull in activity drew her nearer. There was a child whose cheeks were stained with grief – her body had barely dried after birth – and Fig glanced between the adults that loomed around her. They were all wrought with pain, and the young Lingnea felt a tide of regret flood her core. Why am I here? she breathed heavily – what right had she to gawk?

Her dark shadow fell across the grass ahead of each tentative step, and the soft hue of a purple wildflower beckoned lips down through the air. With a touch so delicate despite her enormous size, the tree-girl plucked the bloom and continued forward towards the body and those gathered in mourning. In a show of respect, solemn and kind, she placed the flower a small way from limp legs.

Sorrowful gaze touched each of the fallen mare’s hurting loved ones before passing across her body – it was flawless! There were no lacerations, torn flesh to suggest a struggle. Blood pooled where the new child had first lain, and sweat caked across flank and shoulder. Confused, Fig’s eyes travelled along the wilted length of her neck and upon it she found a bite distorting skin. That was perhaps the only reason for her to believe it another in the long string of murders...

As she stared pensively at the lone wound, for a long time, and it was perhaps only because of her focus that she noticed the puny puncture wounds, nestled into the groove of the blunt teeth impression. She gasped lightly, almost fearfully and drew back. A snake? Never in Prim’sylva had a reptile turned so pitilessly upon the Lignea – it was unnatural, terrible. They fed upon rodents, birds or insects... Too rattled was Fig to spare a final glace to those lingering, and she slipped quickly away, wishing only for the comfort of her trusted homeland – World’s Edge.

Four Strangers
Fig
Parelia
Kirah
Ira