It took Vholno some time to understand that his father was once regarded as a blushing maid who found his true self through the care of the dryads. Though wind pollination makes humoresque paternity all but impossible to determine, still, Vholno is desperate to learn the one who’s pollen took root in Gyethamp the Bard all those years before.
Sequel to @internutter/challenge-04709-l325-difficult-history -- Deathshead419
There was a lot to take in. A lot to understand. A lot, after those two facts, to learn about Dryad biology. Which was associated with Dryad sociology and Gyethamp's big faux pas. Listening to it from the Dryad side of things was an education.
"He drank of all our nectar," said one of the grove. They were all interchangeable and had no individual names. "He ate of our fruit. He tangled limbs with all of us."
A second spoke up, "Yet he named one and said that one was unique and above the others."
"We are grown of the same pod," added a third. "We are the same siblings. We are many and one in many bodies. The song he sent you with insults us still, that he would have sorrow for losing one and not all."
"The last break," said a fourth, "was offering to take one from the rest. Away from their tree! As if we could journey far from our roots! He wanted to keep one from many-is-one, and stole the seedling of us as it grew inside."
"He broke the deal," complained the first. "He took the magic to change him, but kept the seedling we made with him."
"But you are back," announced the fifth. "You have come to us and are part of us as we are part of you. Take off the dead animals and sink your roots into the soil."
"Flower, and await the bees," declared the sixth. "You shall grow new pods who will dance with us. And we shall all prosper."
Vholno felt his heart sink. "I only wanted to know the truth, not stay stuck in one place. I've spent my life wandering from place to place. Drinking from a new stream or seeing the sun dawn over different mountains. I can't stay. Not how you want me to." He expected anger. Violence. Some show of hostility. He expected to be exiled like his father before him.
"You will sink your roots into the soil in time," singsonged the eighth. "You may not be with us, but you will tire of walking and wish to stay somewhere. It matters not to us. Some seeds go far before they take root."
"Feel free to do the meat-folk things," giggled the fourth. "You will only make more seedlings like yourself. More of us means more hunting. We can balance out the meat-folk who like to chop us down. Chop them down and feast our roots on their blood. Grow strong on their rot. Shade out the others with our leaves."
Vholno remembered that plants were twice as ruthless as animals. They might even be as ruthless as the intelligent creatures that could walk the world.
"Go in the sun," cooed the third, "and flourish."
Vholno fled for the underground, given that one hint that the sun would help him 'flourish'. Two weeks in the mixed-population Undercity Norc, in the shallower areas of the Everdark, reduced the green of his skin and the bark patches on his body.
He still never let himself be barefoot on soil. The paranoid memory of his fathers' words made him obsessed with only being barefoot when bathing. He even had soft slippers for sleeping and a set of overshoes for walking around his house.
For a Bard, Vholno was remarkably chaste. He warned every single one of his children of what could happen if they ventured into the sunshine. He may not be able to stop the Dryad's greater plan, but he could slow it down from his -ha- branch of the family.
[Photo by Dylan Crawford on Unsplash]
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