The Watching Sapling (2)

A clear morning, bright with sunshine.

―This looks like a number. It keeps showing up in repeated use, and the shapes are all different from one another.

I studied the numerals I had crafted from solid mana, one by one, recreating the characters carved into the gravestones.

―Gathered together, this group is numbers and this group is letters. Given the context of the gravestones, they most likely record dates and names.

The water droplet perched on my still-green leaves despite the autumn air bobbed her horned helmet in agreement. Then, stretching like someone waking from a nap, she rippled across my surface and poured herself away on an outing.

Apparently written language isn't interesting to spirits.

But it mattered a great deal to me.

Language I could understand, whether thanks to my divinity or something else. Whenever the girl talked to herself, I could sense the concepts and meanings behind her words. I could even hold conversations.

Written characters, on the other hand, were just shapes. No matter how carefully I studied the gravestones, I couldn't tell what any of it meant.

Now that I had an elf for a neighbor, learning her script would make life far more convenient.

I didn't know what the carved characters meant, but I kept practicing forming them, trying to familiarize myself with their shapes. With an unfamiliar script, the first step is learning to tell one form apart from another.

The days slipped by.

My roots had grown to their fullest, and the neighboring flower bed began to bear fruit. These were the very first yields, formed after the blossoms fell.

The little water droplet girl, admiring one of the unripe fruits, plucked it right off the stem.

―Fruit is supposed to be eaten after it ripens. You could eat it like that, I suppose, but the seed wouldn't be fully grown yet, and it wouldn't taste like anything.

The droplet tilted her head, curious, then popped the fruit into her mouth. Mimicking the elf girl, she went through the motions of chewing.

The fruit inside her sank slowly through her translucent liquid mana. Then it simply passed straight through her body and dropped to the ground with a soft plop.

―Whoa, it went right through you.

The water maiden, frozen in an awkward half-chewing pose, heard my reaction and broke into a radiant smile.

Then, seeing me watch, she picked the fruit up again and swallowed it a second time — as if to say, watch this. The fruit bubbled down through her body once more.

―Wow, you're a very special droplet, aren't you? Unlike the elf, you can eat the same fruit over and over. Impressive.

The water droplet girl clapped her hands and giggled — kyaruruk!

While the droplet and I enjoyed the fruit together, changes were afoot on the elf girl's side as well.

With a strangely dark expression, the elf girl would spend her morning hitting the target board, then pull some book or other out of her small bag. It was a book filled with drawings of flowers and plants, complete with writing alongside them.

An herbal, perhaps?

Then she pulled out another book. This one crammed a single word beneath every single illustration.

Huh? Don't tell me — is that a picture vocabulary book?

The girl read the herbal, flipping through the picture book at intervals to search for matching words. No matter how I looked at it, it was a illustrated vocabulary primer.

Ohhh, it's one of those "Master 100 Basic Words in 100 Days" books! I want to read that so badly.

Contrary to my wishes, the girl only read for a moderate stretch before getting up. Rather than deep study, she busied herself gathering herbs, comparing the pages against the forest around her.

How am I supposed to read that vocabulary book? It would be so nice to just talk to her and borrow it.

I glanced sidelong at the water droplet.

She was sitting on a bed of autumn leaves, purely spectating. She'd chosen a perch on the far edge of my canopy — perhaps she thought it would be embarrassing to be caught slacking off at this point.

Right, asking her for help feels a little too pathetic. I'll handle this one myself.

I figured it might be possible if I stretched just slightly beyond the limits of a mortal mind. I did it every time I worked my roots, so it shouldn't be difficult. All I needed was to shed my preconceptions.

I focused my mind on the little bag at the girl's side.

Peering down through the earth as though looking beneath its skin, I examined the bag's interior. The harvested herb roots and the jumbled picture book came into sharp, clear view, transcending every visual obstruction.

I concentrated deeper. Each individual page registered as its own distinct thing. The drawings and letters stood out plainly, even without light.

There, I can see it. Memorizing it all in one pass would be asking too much — let's copy it page by page.

Working the solid mana, I traced each sheet. As long as I grasped the meaning of the drawings, rough impressions would do, but for the letters I put my long practice to work, engraving every character clearly and without error.

Days passed — the elf girl favoring picture-book browsing over practice, absorbed in herb gathering — until I had copied every single page.

Then I punched a row of holes alongside the pages and bound them together with strands of mana twine, like a notebook.

The vocabulary notebook bobbed cheerfully atop my leaves.

Yu-hu! I've produced my very own "Master 100 Basic Words in 100 Days."

From now on, I can become the smartest, sharpest sapling in the world.

Neighbors, henceforth you may address me as Sapling the Wise and Brilliant.

Time flowed on.

I had grown to my full height, and my studies of the script were coming along nicely.

―This is the number nine, and this is ten. Which means they use a decimal system. Humans have ten fingers, so base ten makes sense. Yeah... you don't seem to find this interesting, do you...

I'd been trying to teach the characters to the water droplet spirit as a study exercise, only to watch her nod off, bobbing and dozing — and I was on the verge of giving up when a tremendous event ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠occurred.

Don't tell me — did she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠steal that?

The elf girl, glancing warily around, unfurled a bundle with a tense expression.

A sharp steel arrowhead emerged, supported by a cleanly finished shaft no amateur hands could have produced.

That looks incredibly dangerous.

It was on an entirely different level from the homemade wooden arrows where a bad shot didn't matter.

From where I'm sitting, stolen seems like the right call.

The elf girl kept casting restless glances around, exactly like a kid who'd done something terrible. Her hands were trembling too — she had amateur thief written all over her.

But once she was certain no adult had followed her, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. She lifted the steel arrow with both hands, her searching gaze turning reverent.

Yep. A rookie thief, moved to tears by her very first haul.

The elf girl picked up her bow. She nocked the steel arrow and drew the string back, holding the pose, then put on her most dignified expression.

A breeze stirred her golden hair.

Apparently pleased with the picture she made, the corners of her mouth kept twitching upward. Then, at some point, the dignified expression collapsed entirely into a goofy grin. Her cheeks were burning red.

Well, real arrows certainly do make her look like a proper elven archer. Adorable.

......Even if the arrow is stolen.

The elf girl took aim at the target board. Then, apparently deciding that didn't match a real combat scenario, she abruptly darted behind a tree and took aim at a boulder instead.

She mimed loosing the shot a few times, making shwip, shwip noises with her mouth. Then she burst out from cover, rolled stylishly across the ground, and struck a magnificent pose aiming into the brush. From the girl's lips came a pooshoo sound.

Pooshoo-pooshoo.

Wow, so cool. I think she's ready ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to start hunting rabbits right now.

The elf girl, it seemed, had reached the same conclusion.

From the following dawn, she arrived at the practice ground in full kit. After landing a few shots on the target board with her steel arrow, the girl set off through the woods with a tense face.

But for all her skill with the bow, her tracking was clumsy — finding an animal alone took her ages.

She barely managed to spot a rabbit I knew well, then stepped on a twig before she could even raise her bow and lost it.

The elf girl collapsed face-down in despair.

I'm glad that rabbit I know is such a good escape artist, but this looks rough for her.

Which was exactly why I'd arranged things with the water droplet in advance.

The droplet's credentials included one hundred separate incidents of startling perfectly innocent passing birds. She possessed a level of mischief outstanding enough to conduct bird-drives right along an elf's search route.

Wow, what an accomplished little troublemaker.

Embarrassing to brag about anywhere else, but right now it's a genuinely useful résumé.

The droplet began her bird drive. Some birds simply fled into the sky, but a few who refused to be cowed by a tiny water droplet's startle tactics merely relocated — crossing paths with the elf girl, or startling the girl herself into fumbling her shot, several times over.

Then the bowstring drew back in silence. The arrowhead trained on a small blue bird. The elf girl slowly held her breath. The tremble in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her hands gradually stilled.

You can do it.

The string released. The arrow split the air. It punched through the bird, whose wings beat uselessly a moment too late. The little feathered creature wobbled, then fell. Dead leaves crunched beneath it.

Whoa.

The elf girl sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened by degrees, and then she was screaming a cheer, throwing both arms to the sky. She hopped and skipped in circles.

Wonderful. At this rate, she can put food on the table by hunting.

Then, without warning, the elf girl's foot caught on a tree root. She flailed both arms for balance, and went down flat after all.

Aigoo.

The dead bird was dressed.

The elf girl wiped away the blood with blades of grass and tidied the feathers until they lay neat and smooth. Her hands worked with painstaking care, as though trying to restore the bird to how it had looked in life.

Is she commemorating her first kill? For all I know she means to stuff it.

Long blades of grass were rubbed and twisted against her palm. Once a braided cord was complete, she wound it around the bird's body and tied it off in a ribbon. Deciding the ribbon didn't look right, she untied it and started over.

Ah, I see. It's a gift.

The elf girl beamed as she admired her present. She hugged it tenderly to her chest, leaned in to kiss it, spat at the taste of blood — bleh, bleh — then hugged it again.

Whoever it's for, it's a truly lovely gift. If they spot that suspicious arrow wound she'll get scolded, sure, but in the end they'll surely hold her close and warm.

Humming to herself, the elf girl turned for home.

She collected her bag from the practice ground, crossed the forest path, and arrived at the gravestone clearing.

The gravestone clearing was in an uproar. New pits had been dug, and dates and names were being hastily carved into white markers.

Elves looking more haggard than usual held a hurried consultation. Though the pit was finished, for now they laid the corpse of a female elf neatly on a plank — apparently waiting for family to arrive.

An adult elf, chosen as their representative and walking toward the girl's direction, spotted her and broke into a run.

The elf girl, bewildered, flinched and hurriedly hid the gift behind her back. Whatever scolding she might deserve, her expression said she was determined not to be caught with it.

Words passed between them.

The shadows of autumn leaves washed across the girl's face. The color drained from her skin, her cheeks turning paler and paler. The sound of running footsteps echoed one after another.

Elves were pushed gently aside. Trembling eyes fixed on the body.

"Mom......?"

The ribbon-bound bird slipped from her nerveless fingers.

Silence fell.

"I can hunt now, too. I learned how."

Hammer and chisel quietly carved the date into the stone.

"Mom doesn't have to go out while she's sick anymore, so why — why......"

Gentle hands drew the girl carefully backward. Elves in quarantine garb lowered the body into the pit.

Soil rained down over the body. It covered her chest, covered her face, filled the pit. The earth was packed firm, and a white gravestone settled into place.

The burial work was finished before the sun went down.

The elves offering their condolences drifted away one by one. When the last of them picked up the fallen bird, pressed it into the girl's hand, and vanished, the girl was left alone before the grave.

A blank gaze fixed on the gravestone. The bird slipped from her hand once more, its body nudging against her feet.

Her eyes traveled slowly down to the ribbon-bound bird. The grass ribbon had been crushed out of shape.

She picked it up. Trembling hands straightened the ribbon and brushed away the dirt. Her steps carried her closer to the marker, and the ribbon-wrapped bird was laid to rest atop the gravestone.

A cold wind blew through.

Shivering, the girl leaned back against the gravestone and sat. Its chill seeped into her spine. She drew up her knees and wrapped her own arms around herself.

The sun set, and night arrived.

Darkness swallowed the forest, then moonlight faded in turn, and morning dew began to gather.

Thermia lifted her head at an unfamiliar presence. A scattering of small fruits had been gathered at her feet, and only then did she hear her own stomach growling.

When she raised her eyes, she found a floating blob of water drifting there. A mysterious being, hovering in midair in the form of a tiny girl.

Sunlight shone straight through the translucent water maiden.

The water girl gazed at her with concern, then demonstrated — picking up a fruit and eating it.

The little fruit entered the watery mouth, bubbled down, passed through her body, and dropped to the ground.

The water maiden looked proud of herself. Her glittering eyes watched, expectant, for a reaction.

What is this being? What does it want from me?

Thermia was curious, and yet not curious at all.

She said nothing, offering only a look.

The water maiden grew flustered by degrees. She mimed eating the fruit several more times, and when there was still no response, she whirled around in a panic to glance at something behind her.

Then, after a moment of visible deliberation, she abruptly reached out her hand.

Thermia's hand was taken and pulled.

"Huh?"

Her body was half-raised. The dew-soaked gravestone fell away from her back, and warm sunlight washed over her. Only now did she feel how cold she'd been.

Their eyes met. The water maiden giggled in relief — kyaruruk! — then turned and, entirely on her own authority, began leading the way.

And so Thermia was carried off. She walked the familiar path holding an unfamiliar hand. Through the underbrush, across the autumn leaves, she ran toward the edge of the world.

When they arrived in unknown territory, a wide open space filled her vision. Beneath a blue sky stretched a fruit-laden meadow.

Sunlight poured down, dazzling.

And there stood a great, towering tree.