Across a scarred land, the ruins of a tower stood crumbling; only one of the spires remained standing. Near the base, a few struggling plants crept their way up the walls and slowly made their way inside. Within the dark walls, they reached towards a still body sprawled out on the cold stone floor. They stretched their tendrils towards the girl and gently stroked her pale cheeks and her brow. A honeysuckle vine slid under her back and struggled to prop her up into a sitting position. Some of the other plants gently swayed their leaves above her face, the tiny dewdrops raining down on her cheeks and lips.
Wake up. Please wake up.
The world held its breath, watching, waiting.
The girl stirred, her lungs opened, and drew in the slight breeze that had offered itself unto her. Dark green eyes that matched her once beautiful forest flashed open. Memories flickered within her eyes and across her features. Betrayal, the fire, pain, and darkness. She closed her eyes and turned away, tears stealing silently down her cheeks.
The wind cupped her face and brushed them away.
It is going to be okay. We will begin again.
Here. A small leaf carrying a bit of water nudged the side of her torn and tattered dress.
Her hand beckoned it, and with a surge of strength it sprouted up towards her lips. Above, the honeysuckle vine let its nectar drip into the water before she drank. With the sweetened water soon gone, the young woman fell back against the supporting vine and stroked the nearby leaves of another. The little plant, starved for her touch, grew towards her gentle fingers in longing. The honeysuckle vine also grew closer, and she laid her fingers upon its delicate blooms, tracing their little faces with her fingertips. The vine shivered with delight and, in an instant, grew thick and strong. She moved her hand to its trunk. Taking hold, she gingerly pulled herself to her feet. The honeysuckle vine steadied her and arched itself into a railing onto which she could hold.
The young woman then beckoned a frail blackberry bush over the balcony and to her side. With a feathery light stroke, berries ladened its branches, becoming the first fruits in many untold seasons. Holding out her hand, the grateful plant gave her the best of its berries for her to eat. It was the first food she had had in a long time, and even though she was hungry, she saved a few of the berries, sending the trailing vines back down to plant them in the soil.
A tiny plant who was frailer than the others timidly made its way up the side of the tower and was slowly growing towards her. A small smile graced her lips, and her foot slid forward to meet it. The plant gently wound itself around her leg and rested. Its sickly green color brightened, little buds formed and bloomed. With new strength, it sat up in front of her and lent a flower to her long, tangled hair in thanks. The honeysuckle vine, still supporting her, began to gently brush its tendrils through her hair. It worked slowly and gently, undoing the snarls. Her curls grasped those gentle tendrils with delight as they worked their way through and put the tresses into rights. Once the honeysuckle was satisfied, the flowering plants twined their blossoms into the woman’s tresses, gently caressing her cheek before going back through the window casement and down towards the earth below.
Come. It is time.
She took an uncertain step forward as the remaining plants drew back and followed the others. Falteringly, the woman followed the retreating flora to the window’s cold stone ledge.
The land was dark before her, the air still heavy with smoke and ash. Little life was seen anywhere; no animals were in sight, and even the little insects were gone. All that was left in that desolate landscape were the few plants that had carefully made their way up the tower—up to her.
Her eyes darkened with pain, a tear falling to the dark earth beneath her.
From the centre of that fallen tear, a seed sprouted, proclaiming that even when all seemed lost, there was still hope, and in the midst of such devastation, the forest would grow and thrive again.
Again, the honeysuckle vine offered itself to the young woman’s aid and gently swept her up off the crumbling balcony to the earth below. Gingerly, it set her down beside the seedling. She knelt before it, kissing the delicate newly formed leaves, and the seedling, giddy with happiness, sprouted up into a magnificent tree. Fern fronds unfurled along the branches, dancing in the breeze, and for a moment it seemed that the sun shone brighter and the air smelled sweet and fresh again.
She gathered her strength, and, slowly, her feet growing more steady with each step, the woman wandered the scarred land she used to call home. Macabre skeletons of scorched trees were collapsing before her, their ash soft beneath her feet. Her fingers ran over their crumbling trunks, her very being crying out for them to live again, but there was no spark of life within. The trees, whom had so often lovingly cradled her and comforted her all the days of her life, were gone.
The young woman solemnly walked forward amid the decay and sat down with her head resting amid the tree roots. Passing her hand over the trunks, mushrooms sprang up. Where she lay, moss grew and spread out around her. Delicate little ghost pipes and pinesaps sprouted up in their own little colonies, creating little patches of intermingling pink and white on the otherwise dark landscape. As she sat there letting the forest draw from her strength, the tears spilled down her cheeks like rain and spattered the face of the earth. Where they touched the soil, more plants sprung up, their leaves reaching out to brush the tears away as the blossoms bloomed only to solemnly shake their heads. She gently ushered them aside as she reluctantly rose to her feet and continued making her way through the ruins of her once mighty forest.
The fire had left no part of her forest untouched. The world had burned that day, the plants—ash. The animals, if they had survived, had fled long ago. Anger and hatred threatened to overwhelm her, but even though they had done this to her and her forest, she would do nothing. She knew that fear and ignorance were powerful things, and she was not here to wage war. All she could do was help the forest grow.
A ghost of a smile flickered across her features as she looked over her shoulder and beheld the abundance of new life sprouting up behind her. Every step she took was now filled with mosses speckled with little flowers, everywhere she touched became green again, and with each movement she made, she coaxed more seedlings to life. Rue anemones, columbine, and larkspur blossomed in her wake, and grasses and mosses sprouted in abundance. Halting but for a moment, she would coax a tree to sprout and then to send out its limbs and grow tall and stately. One after another, they grew beside a slowly gurgling stream as, weeping, she started to run towards the empty shell of a lake. Her tears gathered and grew, running with her and diving into the lake bed. They swelled and filled the yawning cavern with a deep blue. Waterlilies erupted from beneath the surface, their petals unfolding into bursts of white, yellow, and pink.
What little strength the woman had was already fading fast. Wearily, she reclined upon a bed of moss as the shadows were growing longer, leading into the night. As the dull, tired sun seemed to sink into the bowels of the earth, a shy sapling slowly crept up from the ground, its limbs gently forming a canopy above her slumbering form.
With the coming of dawn, a delicate sunbeam crept through the cascade of leaves above the young woman and filtered down upon her skin. She stirred and woke. Rising, she readied herself for the task before her. Facing the direction of the sun, she started, and as she walked, a carpet of green trailed along behind her. Day after day and night after night she wandered, calling, calling for her forest to rise and live again. With each passing day, her forest grew, and, slowly, the birds and beasts returned to their homeland. Their world was being made anew, and everything would be made right. But with all this calling, she was tiring, and as she was nearing the end of her task, her forest and its creatures helped her keep going forward one more day, day after day. Dirt-soiled and travel-worn, the woman’s eyes still flashed a determined green; her forest would live again.
Finally, she could go no further. Using the last of her power within her, a tree grew beneath her and bore her up and up into the sky. Cradling her in its branches, its leaves rustled and sighed in the breeze, whispering to her its lullaby.
She awoke to the rising of a new sun. The bright rays beamed down upon her with joy and excitement. Soon! Soon!
The tree lovingly bent its leaves down to tickle her face, and with a weary smile, her eyes flashed open. She drank the morning dew offered from the leaves and ate of her forest’s bounty. Sighing, she reclined within the tree's strong branches and watched the sky peeking through the leaves. Brushing aside a branch, she gazed upon her land. A smile crept across her face. Everything was transformed. The green of her forest stretched beyond the horizon, and there was just a little bit left that was waiting to be coaxed to life. She bid her tree goodbye—for now, her fingertips lingering on the trunk before she continued forward to finish her task.
Then, with the last tree coaxed from the soil, the young woman returned to the heart of her forest, with its crumbling ruins and remnants of lost friends. She bathed in the lake near the old castle, scrubbing her skin till it shone in the sunlight, and carefully detangling her long tresses. As the woman bathed, a massive rosebush sprouted up at the water’s edge. At one of its tips, a great white rose grew, its petals tipped in soft shades of grey. Bending forward, the soft petals of the blossom brushed the ground before her. Borrowing a sharp thorn from the rosebush’s side, she severed the rose from its stem with a swift slice and crept out of the water and under the petals. With the thorn, she began to remove the centre of the blossom. Slipping through, she rose through the opening, an inner petal clutched to her chest as the base of the rose fell to her hips. The petals flared out all around her in a cloud. Leaning down, she coaxed long blades of grass to grow towards her outstretched fingers. With a pluck, she handed the longest ribbon of grass to the waiting honeysuckle vine. Holding the edges of the petal out together behind her back, the rose’s thorny vine poked holes along both sides; careful lest it prick her skin. Using the grass blade as a ribbon, the honeysuckle wove the blade of grass through the holes and tied it at the base. Pivoting, the woman curtsied and thanked the rose and the honeysuckle as she smoothed her hands over the soft petals of her new dress.
Climbing the crumbling steps up the ancient tower, she stood at the window casement once more and looked out across her land. Her forest spread before her in a carpet of green. The air was bright and clean—fresh and full of life. The drowsy twittering of birds and rasp of cicadas reached her ears. The sun was just setting, its light filtering through the trees as the hazy aura of dusk settled over the land.
The wind whispered through the leaves and gently wafted her hair.
Thank you, Idonia.
Many of the creatures had quieted, while others were just awakening. Soon all would be good and right again.
Art by Mirko Hanak
skylarkwoodrow.com 