The Watching Sapling (1)

The girl picked up the arrows and left.

An elf, then. I could tell at a glance.

That said, her getup was poor and shabby — nothing like the noble elves of imagination. Maybe I'd been carrying around a prejudice for no reason.

For a while, I kept watch in the direction the elf had gone.

She never came back into my domain. I half expected her to loose a stray arrow at me, but nothing of the sort happened.

Instead, I got a front-row seat to the Water Droplet Spirit's new demonstration after her little excursion.

The tiny water maiden took aim with a bow, her expression deadly serious.

A mana bow, nocked with a mana arrow. The string of water drew back and released. The arrow went whoosh, flying off with all the force of a wet noodle.

It grazed the target pebble and dropped with a tok — right where the other two arrows had already fallen.

A flawless reenactment.

The water maiden turned to look at me, eyes sparkling.

Apparently she'd noticed I was paying attention, because lately she'd been wearing her horned helmet firmly in place and heading out in the elf's direction quite often. Looks like she'd been learning archery.

—Whoa, what a sharpshooter! You're going to be the greatest water-droplet marksman in the world.

The spirit flailed both arms and giggled — kyaruruk.

Then she manipulated the water to form a water arrow and let loose shot after shot from the bow. The water arrows zipped through the air and struck the arrows' landing spot dead center, with a rhythmic splash-splash.

She really is a sharpshooter.

As far as the droplet was concerned, archery was apparently less "hitting the target" and more "piling up arrows in the same spot as a game." I couldn't help wondering how mortifying it would be if the elf girl ever happened to watch her.

It was an awkward yet delightful spectacle, but another thought crept in as I watched.

Maybe the droplet is actually shy around strangers.

The spirit had no problem kidnapping the rabbit outright, or playing wicked pranks on the hummingbird and the ants. But that was only possible because they were familiar faces, wasn't it?

Given how curious and mischievously playful she normally was, she should have been all over the elf girl. A strange bipedal life form — what better prank target could there be?

And yet, nothing. Silence.

Any human would chase after a floating water droplet in sheer bewilderment the moment it splashed them and bolted. The fact that the girl never appeared at all made me suspect the droplet hadn't dared make contact in the first place.

Maybe she's just hiding and watching from a distance.

The water maiden turned around. She tilted her head, then stared right at me. Had she sensed something from me, even faintly?

—It's nothing.

So the droplet really is shy around strangers.

She might feel embarrassed, so I'd better play dumb.

Time passed.

My body had grown considerably.

I am a twenty-meter sapling.

Within my visible domain, no tree stood taller than me. I was drinking the highest air of anyone around.

Given time, my soul had grown as well.

Yoo-hoo. Time to take a look at the outside world, shall we?

My field of vision widened, and the elf girl's practice grounds came into full view.

I'd assumed it was an open clearing, but it wasn't one at all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— just a strip of weedy ground laid out in a straight line. I could see a board fixed to the tree at the far end.

I was enjoying a refreshing dew face wash while watching, when the elf girl arrived at her practice spot in the small hours before dawn.

Wow, so diligent.

The girl yawned a long, sleepy yawn and rubbed her eyes.

She looked back and forth between the target board and a flat, jutting tree root nearby, rubbing her eyes all the while — then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply flopped down onto the root and took a nap.

Wow?

The girl slept her nap with great diligence.

Only when dawn gave way to morning did she stir, wiping the drool from her mouth and stretching before pulling jerky out of her little bag to nibble on.

Then she noticed her nails had grown a bit, and carefully trimmed them with a small dagger. She spread out her freshly groomed hands and admired them for a good while, looking rather pleased with herself.

Only after all that did the elf girl rise, pick up her bow, and start shooting.

The string took aim at the target, and her expression turned serious.

Why, that's exactly the same stance the droplet showed me.

The string released, and the arrow flew. It grazed the edge of the target board and dropped with a tok into the grass, clacking against a wooden arrow that had landed in the very same spot.

Whoa, whoa. I didn't expect the results to be identical too.

The girl frowned at the outcome, then drew a fresh arrow.

In contrast to the almost farcical results, her practice itself was quite earnest. Dozens of arrows flew at the target. Half went wide; half struck the board.

Apparently dissatisfied with the score, the girl crossed her arms and grumbled to herself. Then she steadied her resolve, drew the string once more, and the sound of arrows split the morning air.

Morning passed and noon arrived.

The girl pulled a few strips of jerky and some herbs from her bag and munched away, went through a round of limbering stretches, and drew her bow again.

Whoa? She's doing this all day?

At some point, the water droplet had appeared too, clinging to a blade of grass in the guise of a dewdrop to watch the practice. She seemed experienced at it — quite a skillful disguise. So she really was shy around strangers.

The only problem was the horned helmet she wore, which made the "dewdrop" not remotely dewdrop-like. You're a horned-helmet dewdrop right now. Those don't exist in nature.

Or — don't tell me — was she hoping to be discovered by accident?

Too embarrassed to speak first, so she was hovering around waiting for the other party to approach her? That would explain it.

But the droplet's quiet hopes were betrayed.

Because the elf girl was focused on nothing but her practice.

She trained until the sun hung low in the sky, then collected her arrows. In place of the broken ones, she gathered up some thick branches.

Then, folding down her fingers as she counted the misses, she let her shoulders sag and trudged home.

She really does practice all day long.

The water droplet, who had likewise spent the whole day hovering about before giving up, came home and reenacted everything she'd seen — then went completely limp against a boulder. Her round little form puffed out like a steamed bun gone stale, and the horned helmet slid off, defeated.

Whoa, whoa.

—Are you okay?

No response. She puffed out even further.

The steamed bun has become a pizzzza.

I had no idea how to comfort her.

It was a shyness problem, sure — but being shy around strangers also comes from a kind heart, from consideration and carefulness toward others. It wasn't an outright bad trait, so telling her to just fix it felt like too much.

—If you want to become friends, how about this? Secretly help her, then make a dramatic surprise appearance. Get her to go: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"Goodness me, a mysterious water droplet exists? And it's even been helping me?!"

The droplet maintained her pizza state for a moment.

Then, apparently taken with the idea, she wobbled back into her round, bouncy shape. The horned helmet settled snugly on top.

The helmeted droplet bounced up and down.

—There we go. I'll help.

I replayed the elf girl's practice in my mind.

Her miss rate was high enough that even she looked dejected about it.

Though honestly, I couldn't tell whether this counted as bad shooting or good shooting.

The board was about the size of a rabbit, and the distance was roughly thirty meters. Hitting it half the time seemed pretty decent to me? But since she was so clearly disappointed, maybe not.

Her actual skill level was beyond me, but the cause of the misses was easy enough to spot.

The ground is the problem.

A forest isn't an artificial space. Wherever she planted her feet to loose an arrow, it was dirt, or weeds, or sometimes bare stone.

She'd clearly chosen her spots carefully — they were all about equally flat. But the stone patches must have been very slightly higher. Her posture must have shifted, because every time she stood on stone, the arrows went wide.

With practice she'd learn to read the ground underfoot and adjust her stance on her own, but with just a small nudge from someone else, she'd catch on immediately.

—Let's pull the stones out and cover them with soil.

I made a tiny shovel. When I handed it over, the droplet transformed into her small maiden form and accepted it.

The water drop girl zipped off — pweerr — and arrived at the spot. She looked back and forth between the shovel and the flat stone, then stabbed at the rock repeatedly with the blade like a knife.

Whoa? That's not how you use that.

Come to think of it, I'd never explained how it worked.

The water drop girl glanced in my direction. Judging the distance still beyond my sight, she gave up on the incomprehensible tool, tossed it aside carelessly, and laid her hand on the stone.

Moisture gathered and sheathed the rock. The boulder trembled, then floated up. Crumbs of soil rained down.

At her gesture, the damp earth rose in its place. Soil filled the hole the stone had left. Once it was packed tight, the boulder lowered itself and thumped down, thumping again, tamping the ground firm.

Whooooa. She works way harder than I gave her credit for.

I felt a little embarrassed at myself for handing over a single shovel with no instructions whatsoever.

The water drop girl looked satisfied with her finished work. She seemed about to head back — she picked up the shovel, then paused, examining it closely.

Then either she figured it out, or she remembered having seen it somewhere — she dug into the ground with the mana shovel. The earth gave way easily.

The water drop girl's mouth fell open. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the finished site and her spotless shovel.

Then she looked my way. The water maiden deliberated for a moment — then sprinkled a little soil onto the shovel, patting it until the blade was evenly coated.

A short while later, the droplet came home.

—There you are. Good work?

The water drop girl nodded.

Then she held up the soil-covered shovel high with both hands. A pantomime followed: shoveling dirt, tamping the earth, hoisting the soil-stained shovel aloft again with both arms.

—It helped a whole lot······?

The water drop girl nodded her head rapidly. Beaming a radiant smile, she flew over and hugged my branch tight.

It was a chill warmth — cold, yet cozy all the same.

My leaves folded down over the water drop girl.

—I love you too, very much.

A bubbly kyaruruk of laughter tickled through the leaves.

The next day, the elf girl came to her practice spot.

She stopped short at the place where the stone was missing, then prodded at it with her foot, puzzled.

For a while, the girl groaned over it, wondering whether her memory was playing tricks on her or the scene itself was somehow suspicious — until she gave up and simply started her archery practice.

Unlike yesterday, nearly every arrow struck the target.

Yoo-hoo. My diagnosis was spot on.

The girl seemed to catch on quickly too, shifting her footing and stance as she shot. Her arrows traced easy, clean arcs into the target.

Once she'd verified the cause, her face went red. She fanned herself with her hands, then hid her face behind her palms. Her ears were bright scarlet.

Self-taught learners always miss the small details. No need ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be embarrassed.

More time flowed by.

My roots grew to their full spread, blanketing the earth beneath me.

Summer had long since passed.

The neighboring flower field that had once dyed the world yellow and danced in the wind had withered too. The petals drooped and faded.

As the days went by, the blossoms dried and fell one by one. The flower field's gorgeous display lost its vigor, then its color.

The yellow vista that had once filled my vision turned, before I knew it, into a green landscape. Just as we call any unfamiliar grass a weed, the flowers became weeds.

So this is how it ends, after all.

They held on for a long time, but in the end the natural order won out. Still, there was no need for sorrow. Wait a while, and the fruits would set; winter would come and go, and the seeds would bloom again.

Watching the water droplet perch on a lone pink blossom, pretending to be a dewdrop, I basked in the sunlight. Sunshine, thank you as always.

Still more time passed.

My trunk and branches grew, holding up the sky.

Yoo-hoo. I'm a twenty-five-meter sapling now.

The best part of life as a sapling is that you grow taller just by sleeping. I was already twice the size of the trees around me.

The canopy hides her from view for now, but once I grew a bit taller, wouldn't I be able to see the elf girl again?

When that day came, I could proudly introduce the water droplet — the one who'd given up on hovering nearby and now only watched from afar.

"This is the mysterious water droplet who helped with your archery practice. Now that you're friends, she might play mischievous pranks on you from today onward, but her heart is warm, so please get along."

Having imagined it, I felt the introduction was somehow lacking.

I really must agonize over this droplet introduction.

While I agonized, the days wore on and my soul grew.

Yoo-hoo.

Now I can watch the elf girl's back as she finishes practice and heads home.

I checked right away.

A landscape of autumn yellow and red spread across my field of vision.

Within it, the girl gathered up her arrows and walked off with jerky held between her teeth. She followed a trail worn by animals, stepping over tree roots and pushing through thickets, fallen leaves crunching underfoot and marking her passage.

After walking a while, a single headstone came into view among the trees. Fairly recent, by the look of it — clean, without a trace of moss or mold.

The girl gave it only a glance and kept walking. More and more headstones emerged from among the trees as she went.

Then, in one spot, I saw haggard elves in threadbare clothes digging a pit for corpses. Cloth bound over their mouths and noses, gloves on their hands — full quarantine dress.

An elf corpse was lowered into the freshly dug pit.

One of the elves shoveling earth spotted the girl. A hurried hand signal followed: keep moving, this could be dangerous.

Whether it was a sight she'd grown used to or not, the elf girl gave a small bow of her head and quickened her pace.

At that point, I widened the narrow field of vision I'd been keeping focused on her.

I swept my gaze all the way to the edge of my domain.

White gravestones studded the lush autumn scene.

The headstones stretched on, without end.

Whooooa?