[ P ] tree whisperer

With the arrival of spring Zoltan was delighted to see leaves sprouting from bare branches, covering their exposed extremities in green once more. He'd done what he could to keep his friends warm throughout the winter, including warming their trunks at night by sleeping against them and wrapping what branches he could reach in animal skins harvested from sacrifices. All that was left of his gifts were rotting strips of hide half eaten away by birds. The small green leaves made his efforts worth it in the end, knowing that he had protected them from freezing to death. Every autumn he tried to prevent the leaves from falling, collecting as many as he could and sticking them back on with tree sap. The blue witch simply did not understand that it was how the cycle of seasons progressed throughout the year.

Feeling better today? Your bark isn't as dry. I bet all you needed was that little bit of rain, huh? he chatted away to his oldest friend in the forest, a grand oak tree that was likely as old as the forest itself. You think so? I dunno. It looks too sunny for rain again today. I can get you some water from the stream if you really need some, he suggested and cocked his head before finally nodding in response.

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He had not the foggiest clue as to what compelled him to travel, and to the highlands of all places. The common-tongue spread like wild-fire of the news in the bearing of the royal seed. The astrologist prayed silently in his mind that they be fruitful this spring with proper heirs. Though the male could not promise their reign would be as delightful, for the outlanders quarreled darkly from their corners of the world. Forsythe knew of their conquests, their desires, knew of the royalists and how they pledged their dying breath to the king’s very feet. A fickle world they played a role in, it seemed.

The coyote-colored wolf grazed quietly, as would a young cow when brooding alongside her offspring. His steps were slow and calculated amongst the tall grasses of the maple red and orange timber. There was a sense of familiarity each time he passed through the forest, a time of revelation and peace, a calmness which washed over him in strong waves of warmth and honey. The nymphs of spring would whisper amongst the winds which whistled into and out his ears, silencing any ill thoughts that littered his mindscape and replacing it just then with a gentle voice.

“Feeling better today?”

A question not meant for him, though his ears swiveled curiosity as if it was. Forsythe politely tended to the origin of lyric, his gleaming blossom eyes settling kindly over a fashionable dark man that sat and pondered amongst the tree’s shade. It appeared to be conversing with nature, as if it were speaking back. Should he dare interrupt such a vulnerable time? He could not bear to watch so plainly from the shadows. He approached, body centered and externally relaxed so the other may not pose him as a threat, “Have they answered?” One ear turned back while the other trained towards the wolf. He could not fight his instincts from listening to their surroundings first to make sure they were at their lonesome.

“Allow me to fetch the water for you, so that you may remain with them? You appear so…,” The scholar’s gaze began to linger, a bit intrusively, “-collected in this space. I would not want to ruin it for you and your friend.”

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@Zoltan

The prospect of an audience hadn’t occurred to the blue witch. Months often passed without so much as a visitor so remote and mysterious of a place that the Blackwood coven had taken root within. It was little wonder that when a person did stumble into their web that they were never heard from again. An idle thought of offering the man up as sacrifice drifted through Zoltan’s chaotic mind as naturally as one might spectate the weather. Do they answer? The murderous urge was swept away by his attention returning to this oaken friend. Blue eyes lit up immediately, utterly unconcerned that he might appear mad or deranged to an outside perspective. Can’t you hear them? he asked, unaware that the voices he was hearing were his own imagination. As a lonely pup desperate for friends he had created them within the trees, crafting a vast array of characters that kept him company to this day.

Surprise and delight brightened his boyish features when the stranger offered to gather water for his parched companion. It was an unexpected kindness and indulgence that earned the witch’s favour. Fideal says thank you. Can you find the stream okay? he asked gaelic accent thickly pronouncing the name of the oak tree, lips wearing an appreciative smile. He didn’t want the stranger getting lost on his behalf, at least not before he could share the joy of talking with trees with him.

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Crystal spheres reflected back onto him, his words lacing directly into the other's ears, just as they were rightfully intended. The stranger was not alarmed by the intrusion, he was most pleased. The question which followed, however, did stir about in his mind. Forsythe could not fathom the idea of distrusting a member of their abilities, but he very well could deny that of which he lacks. An apologetic cloud washed over his features, his eyes of solemn, though glimmering with kindness, "I am afraid I do not possess such gifts, fheannag ghràidh," he replied, his own voice lathered in the mother's chosen tongue, though not quite as harshly as his newest conquest's. He looked to the trees as they were spoken of, and then down to the other sitting at it's roots.

A light smirk found his lips just then, "They are most welcome." His ears flickered back forward, fur bristling in the wind and causing the canopies of the Fae Forest to shift and brush against one another in a darling embrace. Forsythe began to stretch his paws, scenting the air subtly as he would smell the nearest source of water. He was not far, the other would hardly recognize his absence. But, the other's concern did warm him from within, "I can manage on my own, unless you care to abandon your friends momentarily and join me for the stroll?" The knowing man was capable of more than that, actually, though he would at least try in convincing the dashing man to accompany him. Nevertheless, Forsythe would turn and head slowly, for the other's decision, into the crimson timber.

The stream would only be a few large strides away from where they were, just as he had depicted. Here, he would gather some water into a hollowed out mushroom top, forcing it to act as a bowl for easier transport. He would rest his paws in the water shortly after, groaning quietly beneath his breath as the cool surface eased his joints. If only the stream were deeper, he would dare try in soaking the rest of him, though alas, he would seek to carry out the mission in retrieving the water safely over to the crow colored wolf's side. Forsythe lowered his haunches gently upon the forest floor, his hips just grazing that of the large oak's roots that protruded out of the dirt and braided one another unevenly. His gaze followed it from top to bottom, admiring how the sun shown through it's leaves. "How long have you had the gift of their language?"

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@Zoltan

The sheltered witch had lived in isolation throughout most of his childhood and young adult life with only nature and his mother keeping him company learning the ways of her trade. His friends had brought his heart peace when violence and chaos threatened to consume him. They were what he’d leaned on when the last droplets of morality were wept, tears mingling with the blood that stained his fur. They knew him, all of him.

Wonder filled Zoltan’s boyish features when an affectionate nickname in the tongue of his people came unexpectedly. The fire and soot furred wanderer was full of surprises and he found himself wanting to know more about the stranger. That’s a pity, brù-dhearg neònach he answered, gifting him with his own avian epithet. They have a lot to say, Zoltan replied, twitching his ears to demonstrate that he was listening to their whispers even as they conversed.

He didn’t need to consider the invitation to join the robin hued man, one paw stepping lightly in front of the other announced his silent acceptance. Like a blue phantom he echoed the others steps to ensure he didn’t wander away. Once they arrived at the stream Zoltan couldn’t resist wading in and soaking his paws. It was only a quick respite within the water for the robin quickly collected what Fideal had asked for using a mushroom as a water receptacle. With trained eyes he located Fideal amongst their many siblings, knowing each groove within their tree bark and twist in the growth of their branches.

It took Zoltan a moment to answer, wondering how he could put into words the length of a lifetime. Since I was small. Fideal was the first to speak to me, he chattered enthusiastically about his friends, tail unconsciously thumping against the earth happily.

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The knowing man could not hide the spark which ignited inside him as the smoke-colored male would return with his own flames, a personal title, gifted only unto him. Or so he hoped. My... my..., he thought, eyes drifting on by and along the other's form more carefully now. ...how you amaze me. He became even more curious when the crow would inform him that the trees spoke in abundance. There was a secrecy between the vessel and nature, an unsettling arrangement of sorts, made only unto this wolf and the trees which surrounded them. This place was filled with wondrous souls with whimsical talents. Even he, a simple scholarly man, could not deny that he had at least his wits as gifts to bestow the social hierarchy.

In the meantime, he would find that the dearest raven would accompany him on this brief adventure, going so far as to even mirror him and rest their weary joints in the belovingly cold stream that gushed from the north. Say it again, your voice soothes me so, Forsythe wished to say, a pleading stare flickering on over to the stranger. In yet, he remained silent and wanting from a safe distance.

"Fideal... a divine name. Was it alarming, to hear them at first for such a young mind?" He questioned, allowing his legs to dry as the sun peeked through the canopies where he stood. The male drew a thin smile, "My childhood was not quite as eventful, I'm afraid. I can't even recall a time where I played or imagined much of anything outside of my studies as a mere boy." He was not pardoned, nor disturbed by such revelations. In truth, Forsythe admired his ability to dive straight into his work - to learn, to understand. "I do take comfort in the stars, however... I've learned so much about them." He mused.

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@Zoltan