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—Wilderness, Alfheim. 

It was… without a shadow of a doubt, a language of songs composed purely of breaths and whistles.

…

…

“Come on,” so said the girl standing over her lying companion.

“I’m ready,” eager to get started on the new day, her companion responded in a manner befitting of her gentle nature.

“Wait,” the girl stopped, “what about your shoes?”

“Later. It just rained overnight. I like the feeling of the damp grass beneath my feet.”

The girl stood unamused and muttered something foul about the mud.

“Where are we off to today?” the gentle voice asked.

The girl however, only shrugged her shoulders and gave a disinterested reply.

“No clue.”

“Perfect, same as yesterday then.”

…

…

Far away from any civilization, there was a peculiar set of woods.

Here, the trees were thin and their leaves vibrantly green. Here, the earth was dark, rich with nutrients, and critters ran with natural abandon. And here was a clear stream with its bed and shores lined with even clearer marble, accompanied by the ever-trickling sound of flowing water.

Walking upstream at a leisurely pace were two girls, one with hair the color of sunset, and the latter being the one walking precariously sole over wet moss while completely barefoot. However, she at least had the sensibility to tie her shoes to the side of her hip, where a belt slung lax.

“Red or green,” the gentle voice spun around suddenly, her feet pivoting dangerously quick over a round stone slick with moss. Yet, skillfully, she kept her balance perfect and all remained fine.

“Green,” the girl replied without thinking all too deeply, or at all in this case. She was used to humoring her companion during these seemingly trivial and spontaneous moments.

“Alright, then as a good sport, I’ll also say green.”

After this, the gentle voice turned back towards the front and continued walking in the same brisk, leisurely, manner as before as though nothing happened.

…

…

Later, where the waters merged into one up the stream, the pair took the left branch with the gentle voice leading and continued walking.

…

…

Later, where the stream sprung from a cave, appearing from the ground itself, with the root of trees deeply rooted and holding the entrance up, the two dove in, unafraid of the unknown dark and completely sure of their steps.

It was quiet here. It was quiet, but also loud. The mossy earthen walls quickly muted out the sounds of the outside as they went in deeper, however, it also magnified any sounds made inside. What was a tap became a clap. A cough, a roar. And a small trickle, compounded by the natural reverberations of the tunnels to become the loudest sound for miles around.  

It was the exact kind of place where a bear or some other kind of creature might lair up.

…

…

“How far do you think the exit is?”

“Who knows?”

“I wouldn’t want to sleep in a cave.”

“At least the sun wouldn’t be shining in your eyes down here, ” the girl quipped.

“The sun wouldn’t be shining in your eyes if you went to sleep at night,” the gentle voice rebuked near instantaneously.

“Have you heard of the Alfar who were abandoned by their own tribesmen in the ruins of their own civilization after the climate turned the whole area into a desert. Where they could no longer go farther above ground, they took to digging underground instead, and now their entire tribe live in a system of cavernous tunnels and they live completely off the bugs and fungi they rear themselves.”

“How did they live that long if the entire place became a desert?”

“They got lucky,” the girl said simply, “they managed to strike gold—”

“Gold isn’t going to get them anywhere. Or did they buy their way out of trouble?”

“…Proverbial gold… I was going to say.”

“Oh.”

“In actuality, what they struck was an underground aquifer.”

“Ah, makes sense. With that, they can do virtually anything.”

“Even though they did secure an unlimited source of water, it was still many years and many deaths later that they secured the right combination of bugs and fungi to survive off of.”

“Mmmm, not interested.” the gentle voice quickly contemplated before answering.

“Well, it doesn’t move much when it goes down at least.”

“Bug Eater, ha.”

“At least I care enough to try out the local cuisine, unlike you, a carnivore.”

“I am sick of the taste of fruits and vegetables. I’ve already had a lifetime of that. I’m finally free to eat what I want to, so I will eat exactly what I want to.”

“You still ate those jam filled pastries, those pâte feuilletée, like you were afraid someone was about to snatch them away from you though,” the girl pointed out.

“That’s because it doesn’t taste like any fruit or vegetable I know,” the gentle voice said with a tint of smugness.

The girl remained unmoved however, and had just the right thing queued in mind to say when her companion finished.

“Bread also doesn’t taste like any fruit or vegetable I know, but I don’t see you ever eating any. If it’s in dipped soup, you drink around it, if it’s a sandwich, you use it as a plate, and if it’s by itself you don’t even so much as acknowledge the existence of it.”

“Well, what can I say? I choose my winning battles.”

But she swept it off like dust over her shoulders.

…

…

After an unknown stretch of time.

“Hm, I’ll ask again, red or green?” the gentle voice stopped and turned back ever so slightly.

“I would say red, but… it’ll be green,” the girl reaffirmed.

Thus the two continued without stopping to look back, though the gentle voice remained visibly distracted after this.

…

…

A draft of wind.

A breath of fresh air.

The exit was near.

The simple tunnel which the two oddly matched companions entered ended up being far longer and larger than it seemed. Although it was straightforward at first, it began to twist and turn and wind the farther in they went. While the walls never expanded the way a cavern would, it was however filled with detours, low ceilings, evidence of once past travelers taking the same path, and signs of periodic flooding which would fill up the entire tunnel.

It was light out when the two reached the exit, that did not mean they managed to get through in the same day they entered.

“How long do you think we’ve been inside? Feels like a day, maybe.” The girl asked her companion.

“Who cares?”

But the gentle voiced one had other priorities.

When they exited through a crevice in the face of a rocky hillside, the woods were no more and the only familiar thing was that ever trickling stream which led them here.

“It’s nice,” the gentle voice mused, “short grass, large and open hills, and nothing obstructing the wind.”

“It is your namesake after all. I guess there’s some truth to it after all.”

The girl inhaled deeply that clean fresh air.

“True, but I’m not sure if I like the wind because of my name, or if I like my name because of the wind. It’s been… too long. There are some things I want to remember, but at the same time, it’s diluted and drowned out by other unpleasant memories. If I met the one who gave me my name, then something might change. But until then… I’m beginning to feel like red now.”

“Then by all means. I only said to ignore it because I was thinking of your mood. If I were alone, then I would have stopped to confront it right away.”

“Okay,” the gentle voice nodded, “But this time, let me take care of it. This is for me to deal with.”

“Got it.”

…

…

With locks of sunset hair swaying in the breeze, the girl stood idle on the hill afar while her companion waited alone on the meadow.

Before long, the whistling of the air grew stronger, the pitch higher, and notes longer. The winds picked up, pushing now not only the stalks of grass that shot up like wheat, but also trying itself to topple the small frame of her body.

From a pleasant breeze to a small storm, the winds gathered around this very meadow. And finally, the gentle voice murmured, loud enough for herself, but perhaps also for another to hear as well.

“It took some time. I thought you would never arrive, but here you are.”

The winds surged, almost in a response.

““

…

…

What carried on from this point on was like a scene from a whole other world, fantastical in all of its glory, yet it was by no means fabricated. There were no strings attached here. Every little thing, from the way the wind tugged at the loose ends of the coat the girl wore, to the way the trees seemily waved and danced back and forth in tune with the strength of the wind, were wholly a truth steeped in reality.

In other words, it was as real as it was ever going to get.

Pretty words aside, it was quickly becoming a storm, one that was centered on this very meadow, but still a full fledged storm nonetheless, and the sticks and pebbles that the wind picked up would quickly become so much more, and staying here for any much longer would drastically increase one’s chances of being pummeled by one of these airborne projectiles.

All it took was one good hit by a flying brick to end a man’s life. What was so different here when the winds were growing strong enough to pick up large fallen tree branches and fist sized stones?

Was it frightening? Well— maybe if the girl had anything at all to lose.

But was it enthralling anyway? Absolutely.

It was not just the feeling of the wild, yet still somehow gentle winds brushing up against every part of one’s own body, but also the way the sounds whistled. It was like a song played in a grand orchestral hall, where each note and sound were so overwhelming to one’s own senses that it evoked a feeling of floating euphoria as the music reached a crescendo— the only key difference being that there were no instruments, no conductors, and no musicians, but the girl could hardly give a damn. And at this precise moment, the girl really felt as though if she were to close her eyes and just let everything go, she might really float in this wind.

““

When the gentle voice responded, she did not respond in words, she responded with whistles in equal song and pitch. The breaths continued— and the whistling did not stop. Sometimes it stretched longer, sometimes it lasted shorter. And other times, the pitch was an ear piercing high, or as gentle as a song bird’s chirp. But together, they all melded as one.

There were no room for words here, the construct of man, only the sometimes tranquil, sometimes soothing, and sometimes melodious sounds of the wind. It was the sound of air which rustled leaves passing by its wake. It was the whistling of a gentle breeze threading through the crack in a window’s sill. It was the very sound of nature itself— tranquil, wordless, and primeval. It was a language dawned before the earliest onset of civilization, before the first of man, and during the infancy of the very gods and this world itself, and the gentle voice was able to communicate through such a primordial language of song and breath.

““

The pitch of the wind grew furiously sharp, like expressing anger, protest, or perhaps even similar to a wail of resentment. If it anybody else were to walk into the situation, they would no doubt think her companion mad for trying to argue against a storm by whistling, but the girl knew better, even if there was no way for her to decipher the meaning behind it. This was simply outside her specialty.

“ “

““

In face of the furious, now howling, winds, the gentle voice remained calm, and even when the storm sharply howled at her, she kept a straight and unmoving face, not even raising the volume of her tune in response. And this all continued, for hours.

It continued for many hours, and for many hours she stood there whistling without complaint or fear.

As a matter of fact, it looked as though she was taming the storm instead, evident by the fact the storm had been lulled to all but a simple breeze now, although it would still occasionally flare up, but quickly get lulled back to a simple flute.

…

…

“That’s enough. I think you should show yourself now. It would be rude to continue hiding for any longer.” The gentle voice broke her stern countenance and relaxed for the first time since the beginning of this dialogue.

““

The wind gave one final whimper before a mound appeared, rising from the very earth itself and surging in mass until it became the size of a small boulder at knee’s height. And from there, a lump broke through the top of the mound revealing a head full of withered branches and hair along with a pair of long pointed ears protruding from both sides. This strange figure continued to rise from the earth like some sort of maiden from the surface of a lake.

Only, unlike a beautiful maiden, this creature was an abomination, in the nude, with a quarter body of flesh with the rest being of scaly and peeling bark and gnarled wood.

A dryad— or what should be one, but no dryad the girl knew in this entire world looked as grotesque and abominable as this. Even the gentle voice showed grimace at the sight of her, but she sucked in a gasp of cold air and restrained herself back to her normal demeanor.

However, even that newly fortified visage creaked when she saw the crooked looking dryad try to bend down onto a knee, only to be stopped as she physically could not contort her body any more than this.

” “

The sound of a soft whistle sang again. And it was at this very instant that the sunset haired girl swore beneath her breath, because she realized exactly the reason why the dryad had been communicating in whistles the entire time when she should be able to speak normally just like another person— because the wood had encroached so much onto the dryad’s body that it fused her jaw shut and covered her mouth.

Seeing the state of the dryad now, it certainly made the girl change her perspective about the scenes she had seen earlier that day.

“How pitiful.”

That feeling was all she could associate with the monstrous looking thing.

…

…

…

…

“What would you have done had she followed you instead?”

In the aftermath of the situation, the gentle voice asked her sunset haired companion.

“I don’t think she would have ever followed just me.”

“There you go, avoiding the question as always.” the gentle voice showed a hint of being upset.

“Defend myself, that’s what I probably would have done. Kill her? That’s hard to say given what I now know. But even then, that’s a difficult thing to say outside the heat of the moment.”

“…A child.” The gentle voice murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“She is only a child,” the gentle voice spoke clearer this time.

“A child?” the girl asked, “sorry, I wasn’t able to tell, but even if you tell me that she is a child…”

“She is a child who had long lost her tree, but still continues struggling to this very day in order to survive. You saw how she looked, flesh, bark, and wood fused into one grotesque shape. That was what she had to do in order to survive, but that is only a temporary measure. Do you know why?”

“I would only be able to make a few guesses at the most, so just tell me straight. Explain whatever you think is necessary.”

“Mm,” the gentle voice nodded once, “Drys— Oak: Dryades, or oak spirits as they were originally called. But names are a construct of language, and with the death of the language that gave the dryades their name, people call them dryads now, with no knowledge of the intentions behind the name. They are nature spirits, each one bound a special tree that they tend to throughout their entire lives. Because without it, the dryade would die. But even if a dryade dies, so long as her tree remains standing, a new dryade, with new memories and a new consciousness may eventually be born after many centuries.

“However– and this is a big however– a dryade dies with her drys, and no matter how far apart they may be apart, whether separated by land or sea, a dryade always dies with her tree. Her spirit is tied to her drys so nothing can stop this process. When that drys dies, the dryade link to it will quickly wither away and none but the goddess Freyja may overturn this fate.”

—”Not even I can do anything about it.”

That was what the gentle one’s tone implied. And it was quick and almost imperceivable, but the sunset haired girl noticed a sense of contempt accompanying the vanir’s name.

“While the lives of a dryade and drys may be delicately interwoven, the relation is more like that of a mother and her babe. Even if the child dies, the mother bears the capacity to birth one more. Yet, if the mother dies, then the babe, alone and with no mother to nurture and raise it, would soon follow.”

“Well—”

“No,” the gentle one raised her voice, “I don’t want to hear those smartass remarks of yours right now. Why are you like this sometimes. I know it’s not a perfect analogy so just let me continue damn it.”

“I wasn’t.” The girl shut her mouth.

…

“Sorry… I’m just— I’m just upset with myself right now. Didn’t mean to lash out.” The gentle voice apologized.

“It doesn’t matter. Didn’t take it to heart anyways.”

“Urgh. I’m so angry with myself right now, I just want to shout.”

The gentle voice groaned and pulled at her verdant hair in frustration at the same time. It hurt, but she tugged away at it anyways and eventually kicked a nearby stone, nearly losing her balance in the process, and launched it far into the sky where it eventually landed with a loud crack against the trunk of a tree far and away out of sight.

“What that child did, was to go against the very fundamental nature of her being. I could sense her muffled whimpers of pain, her silent cries for help. The language of the wind does not convey words or meaning, only feelings and strong surges of emotion. That was how I understood the sheer amount of suffering the little one had to endure and go through just to make it here today. It took all of my might not to revolt right then and there… Eurgh! This is so infuriating! Even though this is my domain, my field of expertise, why can’t I do anything! Why am I so—! Fucking! Useless! URGH—!”

The gentle voice kicked yet another nearby stone, only this time glancing it at an angle and causing the stone to be sent rocketing off to the side, where it quickly struck the side of a hill with an enormous thud.

…

“Feeling a little better?” the girl asked her companion after letting her cool down.

“‘Better’ is a bit strong of a word to use here,” her companion exasperated with a sigh. “I just felt the need to blow off a little steam. Where was I? Right. To understand why it is only a temporary measure, I have to tell you the truth about just what kind of relationship a dryade has with her oaken counterpart. There is a reason why drys and dryade are two separate entities. I explained that the bond between drys and dryade are like mother and babe, but that doesn’t go into detail about the specifics.

“Throughout the drys’ life, because of the way it processes nutrition, it begins to accumulate a store of toxins which, if not expelled in some way, would lead to its eventually demise. To solve the problem, they accumulate all this toxin into a fruit that grows on its branches once every so often. However, that fruit is extremely poisonous, so no animals will come near it, and if it falls to the ground, it would simply be redistributed over time and be reabsorbed by the drys, creating a cycle of accumulation which will go on ad infinitum until all its branches are filled with fruit and it no longer has room to expel its toxins. At that point, it will wither and die.

“This is where the dryades come into play. Instead of spreading all those toxins into multiple fruits along its branches, it can store it all up until it can produce a special fruit, from which a dryade will be birthed. Although this process of holding onto so much toxins will scar the drys heavily, it can slowly recover with the aid of time. The purpose of the dryade is to be the drys’ caretaker, and being composed of the same toxins as the fruits bore on the drys’ branches, the dryade can consume these apples to sustain themselves while at the same time keeping the drys healthy.”

“So then what’s the catch?” the sunset haired girl asked.

“The catch? A drys does not need a dryade to survive, if there is someone who will continue to pick the toxin bearing fruits off their branches. But a dryade will always need to eat the fruits in order to survive. For them that toxin is a vital and irreplaceable nutrient. That is why you will never find a dryade too far from their drys.”

“Aah… I see where this is headed now.” the girl mused, “for whatever reason, her tree was dying, and if it did, then she would soon follow, not being able to replenish that vital nutrient only her tree can provide. And in an attempt to extend her own life, she somehow was able to fuse together with her tree. Ah, but can a dryad live off another dryad’s tree? Or is there an aspect of compatibility involved?”

“No, it would work,” the gentle voice shook her head, “as long as it is a fruit from one of the drys, then it would work. Coincidentally, the compounds that make up the toxin makes the fruit extremely sweet, which is why you find that many dryades have a sweet tooth. Additionally, you are able to prevent a drys from producing a dryade as long as you never allow it from accumulating enough toxins to actually birth one.”

“And you do that by plucking its fruits.”

“Correct. Although only another dryade would be able to tell a fruit bearing drys apart from a regular tree. And someone attempting to eat their fruits as well, I suppose. They are also quite rare as well, though I have come across a grove of them once before. A small village worth of dryades greeted me then. They were quite happy to welcome me and didn’t quite want me to leave… No, now I’m getting off topic.”

The gentle voice quietly shook her head and breathed.

“There was one thing about your guess which was wrong. She did not fuse with her tree, no, she consumed it. Leaf by leaf and branch by branch, from the tip of its highest branch all the way to its deepest roots, she consumed all of it in order to salvage every bit of the toxins she could get her hands on.”

“Wouldn’t that kill her anyways? You said their lives were intrinsically tied to their tree, so if the tree died by being consumed, wouldn’t the same thing happen here?”

“That is correct, but at the same time, this is an exception that overturns that. As beings from the same source, her drys still lives on inside her body, and that is what allows her to keep living.”

“But?” the girl urged.

“You saw what happened. The drys came back to life, and it’s using its own dryade’s body as nutrients to grow back. But this is only something akin to a cancerous tumor. Only a part of the drys revived, and that part is now spreading across that child’s body like a parasite with no sense or purpose. Eventually it will finish its job, find that it had just finished consuming a concentrated mass of its own toxins, and they both perish. But before that happens, that child will experience her body slowly turning into wood. First, she will lose all freedom of mobility, and after that lose her sense of touch as her skin will be thick like bark. Next will be her hearing, sight, and smell as bark covers all that as well, before finally losing her mind as the rest of her turns into wood.”

She clutched her head almost as though she was experiencing a migraine.

“As a dryade, she may have outlived her own tree, but at what cost? For each day she extends her life, she has to endure enough pain to drive a person insane in exchange. The most I was able to do was to help ease her pain a little, if only momentarily by conversing with her. Damn, just thinking about it makes me even more infuriated. I don’t want to stay here any longer. Let’s go.”

“Then let’s, shall we?”

“Yeah… Sorry, little one, I did what I could, but I was just not capable enough.”

…

… 

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