The Spectating Sapling (3)
How was one supposed to comfort a tragedy?
I could offer words of consolation, the way countless people had offered them to me back when I lay in a hospital bed. Dress it up with a little experience and knowledge, and I could manage something that sounded quite convincing, surely.
But before a long-running tragedy, comfort was never a special occasion. To the one offering it, it might feel like a meaningful moment — but to the one receiving it, it was just another tiresome round of emotional labor, politely responding to someone's well-meaning kindness.
Grateful for the thought as she might be, that didn't make it any less exhausting.
I didn't want to wear out a girl who was already so tired. Judging from the way she'd brushed past every adult elf's attempt at consolation, she wasn't looking for comfort anyway.
Perhaps, instead...
How about becoming the shade of a tree she could rest under on her way? After all, that was exactly why I'd chosen to become a tree rather than a flower.
The elf girl who'd approached me stared up in dazed wonder, her mouth hanging open. She circled around a few times, taking in the sights, and only belatedly turned to look at the Water Drop Girl.
"You..."
Her voice cracked, and she coughed dryly. After clearing her throat, she tried again.
"Do you... live here?"
The water drop hesitated, then glanced at me. Communication was going to be difficult from the start, apparently. Fine. I'd handle the talking.
Carefully, I filled the surrounding space with my thoughts.
Our water drop here can't speak. If you want to talk, just address me — the sapling of this place.
The elf girl flinched. Her head whipped around and her gaze shot straight to me. Her blue eyes trembled.
"A-are you... a tree, sir?"
The question was funny enough that I didn't quite know how to answer.
Just a mysterious sapling. Think nothing of it.
The elf girl went blank. She stayed that way for a while, then whipped her head around, surveying the area. Sunlight poured down over the wide meadow. The dew-dampened fruit gave off a faint glow. A breeze stirred, swaying my lone green leaves.
"Is this... the afterlife?"
Why would you think that?
It wasn't exactly a gloomy scene, as far as I could tell. If anything, it was remarkably bright compared to the forest.
"I followed a strange being into unknown territory. Now I'm talking to a gigantic tree I've never even heard of."
She rubbed her arms, speaking on with strange calm.
"I couldn't have died in my sleep, could I? And you, Lord Tree, must be the god of this place."
So she'd believed herself dead this whole time. Had she followed the water drop here thinking it was an invitation down the road to the underworld?
They say people don't die just because they cry themselves to sleep. If you insist on believing this place is the afterlife, then it is — but really, this is just the back lot of your secret hideout. You're merely in that groggy state of waking up from a nap.
The girl didn't look convinced.
"Even though a giant tree is talking to me?"
Well, that part was genuinely surreal, I'll admit...
I'm just an ordinary sapling from the hill behind the village.
The elf girl went blank again.
Her gaze climbed upward — past the trunk, along the branches, all the way to the canopy — then, apparently overwhelmed by what she'd taken in at a glance, retreated to examine me from a distance. This time her eyes landed on the other trees. She counted off a few of them before finally turning back to me.
"Just a sapling from the hill behind the village, you say?"
Hearing it out loud, yeah, that didn't hold up at all.
I'd fumbled the phrasing somehow. Still, it was the honest truth.
I'm just a sapling from the hill behind the village.
The elf girl went blank yet again.
I gave her a while, and eventually the focus returned to her eyes.
Done sorting out your thoughts?
"...No."
To be fair, it would be stranger if she had.
Then how about lying down and resting for now? You slept outside — aren't you cold? Stretch out in the grass and soak up some sun, and you'll warm up in no time.
Only then did she seem to register the chill, rubbing her arms again. She hesitated until the water drop swept away the morning dew, then lay down awkwardly. Golden hair spread across the grass. Her blue eyes lifted to a sky just as blue, and clouds gathered in them.
She looked lost in thought. It would probably take quite a while before she finished sorting herself out.
Meanwhile, I might as well do the dew face wash I'd been putting off while watching her.
I picked out a clean, pleasing drop of dew and rolled it leisurely across a leaf. It swallowed up another drop, and the leaf's surface came away spotless.
"I'm... Thermia," the girl said, still staring at the sky.
"My mother calls me Teri, but I don't much care for the nickname. Teri is forever a child. I don't know when she plans to stop seeing me as one."
I mulled that over briefly, then resumed my dew face wash. The enlarged drop traveled along a branch to the next leaf.
"That's why I liked my father. He called me Thermia. And when I couldn't sleep, he'd tell me stories about his hunts — even when Mother scolded him for filling my head with useless things. The feeling of him shushing me with a finger to his lips, saying it was our secret alone... it's still vivid, even now."
The dew rolled across the leaf.
The girl fell silent for a long while.
"You wouldn't know this, Lord Tree, living out here, but people say elves carry disease. Most don't believe it, but it isn't entirely baseless. Every elf's life is short."
I moved the dew to a fresh leaf.
"We mature younger than humans, and grow slower too, yet we fall ill and die before we ever get old — though it varies a lot from one elf to the next. From a human's point of view, we're uncomfortable to live alongside, so we dwell in cabins at the edge of the woods and survive by hunting. That's the traditional role. Partly because if we stop supplying meat to the human villages, we're easy to drive out with any excuse they can invent."
The girl went quiet again for a time.
"The day Father was struck by a human's stray arrow while we walked together. The day Mother came home late, tending a merchant who'd been holding on by a thread."
Thermia's arm rose to cover her eyes.
"...I hate my mother. When Father tried to teach me archery, all she did was scold us — and now, of all times, she wants to teach me. If she'd brought back the medicine in time, Father would never have died. We would never have had to flee all the way to this village."
Her breathing grew ragged.
"With her short-handed, she's finally teaching me now — but the moment I get angry, she gives up and leaves me be, and I hate it. I hate it so much."
Her voice shook.
"I know she never taught me before because she thought I was fated to die young and wanted me to live in peace. I know she's only teaching me now because she can no longer afford that mercy. I know Father's death wasn't her fault. And still I get angry — I hate myself, I hate myself so much for it."
Tears welled in her voice.
"It's far too late to make peace, and I'm far too sorry to just apologize, so a gift, at least. If I can manage even a gift, then..."
The sound of weeping broke through.
Blades of grass curled around the girl.
Sunlight washed over the world.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Thermia stared at the leaf I'd offered her.
"Are you really sure I can blow my nose on a leaf from you, Lord Tree?"
I'm just a sapling from the hill behind the village. Don't overthink it.
She hesitated, then plucked a handful of weeds at her feet and blew her nose. A few more handfuls later, she'd wiped away her tears as well, then squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.
"I feel vaguely better. There's nothing to be done about it anyway."
Both hands rubbed her cheeks.
"At least I can confirm this isn't the afterlife."
You were still doubting that?
"I'm not out of my mind, you know."
You doubted it that much?
It's reasonable skepticism, sure, but that's exactly the problem — it's too reasonable. I just wanted her to accept me as a mildly mysterious sapling and move on.
Thermia came over and settled herself against me. Her dazed gaze wandered over the scenery. The wind stirred it all — trees swaying, grass rippling, clouds drifting by.
"Don't you have any questions for me?"
She hesitated.
"It feels like I've been the only one talking."
I took a moment to gather my words.
When you go back to the village, everyone you meet will have questions for you. Half of them will offer their condolences, and half of those will offer their help. That's how it goes, until the tragedy becomes the past.
So if you'd like, I'll take the questions instead.
The girl drew up her knees and rested her chin on them, her gaze drifting idly over the meadow.
"Honestly, I've already said everything I needed to say. I'd rather not be questioned, really."
That's all right, then.
We passed the time without speaking. The warm sunlight softened something in the heart.
Thermia murmured, "Man, I'm hungry."
She hadn't eaten since yesterday, after all.
The Water Drop Girl, who'd been hiding among my branches nervously watching, darted out in a flurry. She plucked a piece of fruit, zipped back, and set it down at the girl's feet.
Thermia tilted her head. "Is this for me?"
The Water Drop Girl flinched, then nodded carefully.
And here I thought she'd gotten over her shyness. Apparently not — being handed fruit and ignored had evidently wounded her deeply.
I supposed I should lend a hand.
Our water drop here is terribly kind. She picks up strange and wonderful things for me when she thinks I might be curious, and if I ask her for anything, she'll do it, whatever it is.
And now, the highlight.
She's the one who pulled the stone slabs from the training ground so you could practice. She drove the game toward you from behind when you hunted. You have no idea how gentle-hearted she is.
The Water Drop Girl wriggled with embarrassment.
Thermia's eyes went wide.
"So that wasn't the village chief's doing."
What, you thought it was all the chief's benevolence?
"I did think it was odd. The stones were genuinely strange, and when I hunted, the intervals between encounters with wild animals shortened so abruptly it felt artificial. It's not as if I was in any position to turn down help, so I accepted it gratefully, but still."
And so the aid of a mysterious water spirit had been quietly credited to the village chief.
What a wondrous water spirit this is! had somehow become Oh, so it wasn't the chief after all...
Her gaze turned to meet the water drop's.
"Thank you."
Thermia smiled faintly.
"Thanks to you, I wasn't too late, in the end."
The water drop giggled — kyaruruk! — both arms waving in delight as she handed over the fruit. Thermia accepted it and ate. Her lips moved slowly, and a small sound of savoring escaped her.
"I know this fruit, but it tastes so much better than usual?"
That's what eating through tears does for you.
She devoured the rest in big bites.
"Was this place originally a flower field?"
It used to be a field of yellow flowers. When the wind blew, they all danced together, and when it rained, they all shook their petals in unison.
"It must have been magnificent."
It was. When I was still a sprout, I watched it with such longing I actually wondered whether I should become a flower instead of a tree. Even now, I think I'd have been happy as a flower.
Though I couldn't have offered her the shade of a tree, in that case.
"That much, really? Doesn't it bloom every year?"
Does it? I honestly wouldn't know. I'm a sapling not even a year old, you see. Much younger than you.
Thermia rolled the fruit around in her mouth for a moment, thinking to herself, then blinked rapidly. Her gaze swung back to me, sweeping me slowly from roots to crown. Then she let out a light laugh.
"You have your own stubborn streak, don't you, Lord Tree."
Yep. She doesn't believe me. She thinks I was attempting some lame joke.
I felt like an old tree that had lived decades too long and lost whatever sense of humor it once had.
Suddenly, the hand holding the fruit began to tremble.
"Huh?"
Thermia hurriedly covered her mouth. A fit of light coughing, and drops of blood scattered. Her dazed eyes stared at the red staining her palm.
"...Was I pushing myself too hard?"
Trembling, she glanced at me sidelong.
"This is my first time, but it's nothing serious. Really."
The blood-flecked coughing continued.
"Elves vary enormously in lifespan. Mine happens to be especially short, so I've been told I'm getting into dangerous territory soon."
Thermia exhaled slowly and calmly.
"I suppose my body couldn't take it after overdoing it. I should go back and rest."
I see. All right. If it's your first time, ask one of the adults for advice.
"Yes."
The girl wiped her mouth. She stared at the red smear for a long moment, then braced a hand on the ground and rose slowly to her feet.
Then she swayed — and fainted.
Her body crumpled into the grass. A drop of blood stained a blade green.
Hmm...
It might actually be something serious.