Chapter 3, Bradley

I had been traveling back home for six days, a journey I swear I could have made in three on foot, five if I dragged my tunk behind me. These performers were jovial and willing to share transportation for a small price, but their pace was nothing to be envied. They were also quite generous with their wine and spirits, which my cousin, Thomas, took readily at every opportunity.

When they set up camp on the final afternoon of our journey, less than 2 hours walk from home, frustrated, I took my leave, entrusting the safety of my larger belongings to Thomas, telling him I would meet him at the square in the village when they arrived in the morning. He was several pints deep and enthusiatically cavorting with a young woman who juggled by day and danced by night. The night before I had caught them sloppily rolling in the mud, but he had had far too much liquor to give her what she was begging for. There would be no dragging him away tonight.

I walked down the road a while, until I had crossed the bridge and turned to head west through the forest. The terrain was rough for a horse and carriage, but a nice stretch for legs that tired of sitting and a back that could take no more bumps in the road. I knew that a walk through this forrest would lead me to the meadows and grain feilds north of town. There was a tune in my head from one of the young lute players, who had been playing quite relentlessly. I found myself humming along, thinking of home, and hoping to find a bit of game to bring home to my mother along the way. I had no such luck. When I reached the clearing and found the meadow empty I resigned myself to returning empty handed.

I was 100 yards into the clearing when I heard the movement behind me. If I stopped making noise to better hear, I would startle my prey. I drew my bow and turned as deftly as I could. My aim was true as my eyes locked quickly on the buck. I released the arrow before he had a chance to run. That's when I saw, only a yard or two into the wood, peeking around a tree, there was a young woman.

Her bare shoulders shined in the dappled evening sunlight between strands of bronze hair, her pink lips parted in shock. My eyes had been focused deeper into the woods but I had shot just below the arm that strecthed across to a thin tree near her. The buck had ran, I had missed him, but I hadn't missed her.

I called out to her, but she stepped out of sight, when I stepped into the treeline, she was gone.

I scoped the forest for signs of the wounded girl, but her trail ended abruptly. I waited. She would move eventually, and I would hear her.

I thought the poor girl must have been scared to death, and ran to hide her state of undress, and yet I could not be sure how badly she was wounded and could not, in good conscience, leave her bleeding in the forest so close to nightfall. Not from a wound I had inflicted.

After some time I spied a tree dripping sap. I located the wound to the bark in a branch just overhead, it did not match the trajectory of the only arrow I had shot. I curiously explored it with my fingertips to get a feel of the sap. If it were begining to crystalize it would have meant an older wound. A small peice of the bark broke away and the tree vanished. I fell back as the air filled with a sound that was neither a growl or a scream.

Before me stood a beautiful girl, dressed more like a farm boy, snarling at me. She took no consideration of her smaller stature or leaner limbs. She leaned over me and demanded an explanation.

I fear it was several minutes of stuttering and nonsense before I came to the realization that she was both the girl I had shot and the tree I had just been inspecting. After all, it was not the most natural of conclusions to come to.

I foolishly referenced the state of vulnerability in which I had first seen her. To my surprise, rather than becoming flustered or insulted at having been spied in a state of undress, she mocked me for not having enough sense to question her dual forms, referring to clothing quite sweetly and naively as a form of foliage.

The thought of telling this tale to anyone seems absurb, but I will never be convinced that I had imagined it. I remember the way her skin felt in my palm as I dressed her wound, and the smirk she gave as she threatened to invade my home and cut me, then put her fingers in the wound. She minced no words in the vulgarity of the act, and I couldn't deny how violating an act it was, aside from the pain that I had caused this maiden.

I longed to know her better, to know of her existence, her experiences, how she had come to be all that she was. Was she a girl or a tree first? How did she aquire clothing? I wondered.

I introduced myself. Having even her name would have been such an honor. I longed to know what a tree called herself in her own tongue, but she informed me that she had no name.

Ah, then I could name you." I siggested. My first attempt was obvious enough.

"Ash." I offered.

She clearly did not like it.

"Ash cannot be my name! Ash is my species! Human!" she pressed much malice into the word 'human'. I had deeply insulted her and she had tired of my conversation. I couldn't tollerate the idea of her walking away still angry with me. I regretably resorted to threatening to return with an axe if she dared ingnore me.

"What do you want from me?"

"The pleasure of your conversation." I reassured.

"Being a nymph, are you hundreds of year old?"

"I am not an oak." The girl's face twisted.

I wanted to know why she held disdain for oaks. This resulted in a quick lesson in the social heirarchy of the forest. It was honestly quite a lot to take in.

I asked her forgiveness and explained that humans are clueless to the lives of trees and had never considered them to be living in a context so similar to our own lives. I do not know precisely what I said as I confess that I had had a bit of wine myself and may have spoken more boldy than I had intended. I do know that there seemed to be no end in my abiliy to insult this girl, and she proved more agile than expected.

I felt myself sobering up quite quickly as I found myself cornered with a dagger to my throat. Not just any dagger, but mine.

I couldn't help but smile, impressed by her skill.

Her wit was as quick as her movements despite her newness to our tonue, and her lack of turns of phrase.

I challenged that no ordinary tree could have proven a foe that I would fear, as I attempted to free myself.

"That would depend on the tree." she boasted with a smile as she pressed my blade against me a bit more firmly.

She was very beautiful. She had also truthfully bested me. I yeilded to her. I had never inteded to fight a woman, I certainly hadn't predicted yielding to one.

Her cheeks flushed as her eyes explored my face.

She reached out with soft finger tips and traced my features, lingering at my lips.

Her own lips parted slightly. I wanted them. I wanted the taste of her. She moved foreward, her breath shallow and hurried, her body warm against the cool night air. I could not imagine it without fear taking hold of me. I would never dare kiss such a being, even if she had no knife at my throat. I could not tell my body not to want what I wanted, but I could will it not to move foreward so carlessly.

I felt the pinch of the blade knicking my skin gently. She released me hastily and turned away. Her face was hidden and I could not bear it's absence. My hands seemed to move without direction to tuck her hair away from her face and reassure her.

Her cheeks were very flushed. I could not think of what to say.

She demanded a name. The only thing that came to mind were those eyes, glistening in the moonlight, fixed upon me. I named her Veridian.

"The wound would do better with stitches. I can return tomorrow with supplies. I'm afraid I am traveling light tonight." I apologized before taking a drink from my flask.

She licked her lips. She did look thirsty. I pressed the flask into her palm and she looked at me sheepishly before taking a small swig and grimacing.

"You've never drank before?" I chuckled.

"Only water. I usually don't stay in this form for long. If I must drink without my roots, the stream is all that I have at my disposal." she explained.

The taste must have grown on her because she took several more gulps.

"Slow down!" I warned, "wine does more then quench thirst for a human body."

"What a silly boy to think a forest has never seen a drunk!" she laughed, placing her hand to her chest charmingly. Veridian took a drink more before sitting with her legs extended in front of her, ankles crossed, with her back against a tree. she gestured for me to join her and I obliged.

She passed the flask back to me, resting the back of her fist against the center of my chest, and I struggled to grasp my flask without drawing attention to the surprise I experienced at her touch.

"The forest sees things collectively?" I wondered aloud.

"Not entirely, but what one tree knows, we all know, we love to gossip, and we communicate quite efficiently."

"How?" I asked, genuinely perplexed as I took another drink. She sat silently for a while.

"Not with words..." she explained. "words seem to have many....limitations," she continued, "I believe there is a lack of words to describe it at all." she laughed, her lips were stained red with the wine, but she reached for more.

"Boys can't sew." she stated, gesturing at her arm. "The boys come with sticks and slings, and swords. Its the girls who come with the needles and baskets of string."

"I can do many things." I replied.

"Why?" Veridan scoffed, tossing her hair behind her.

"I had an unusual childhood." I sighed.

"mm" she swallowed a mouthful of wine, I feared perhaps the last mouthful, "I recall." She finshed, dropping the empty flask in my lap.