Grow Together With Me

The Pear Tree was a large and steadfast watcher. They were old, old and wise, and strong. Their roots were thick and long, stretching under the earth and listening. Listening in the way only old trees could, listening and watching.

The Pear Tree was a guardian. They were a guardian of the new saplings that sprouted, the flowers that sprang up after the snow, squirrels and the snakes and the birds, the bees, and the grass that grew beneath them. There was a badger that lived under their roots, a robin nesting in their limbs, they provided cover for the still weak saplings and fresh flowers just pushing up. They provided food for the deer that would so often come by with their gangly fawns trotting after them with such innocence and youth. The Pear Tree was a guardian of a lot of things, and they loved and cherished each one.

They were not sure how much time had passed in their woods, a long time since they were a sapling, that much they knew before their cherished ones began to disappear. Perhaps they had forgotten them, their vast and old Pear Tree. They missed them but understood. Even if they were forgotten now, they would not be forgotten forever. New creatures would come for them to shelter and cherish, to guard and welcome. They just had to wait.

And so, wait they did, waited and watched for their new creatures. A tree has a lot of patience. And as they waited and watched, they realized, less and less of their animals came back, the young trees gathered around them were also starting to vanish, until the Pear Tree was alone in their not-woods surrounded by memories. It was a sad thing, a quiet thing.

Yet it was not quiet for long, the grass grew back, and the flowers pushed back up from the dirt, the bees returned, and the birds. And some new creatures sprang up from the hill. They were busy things and loud, always moving and working. They wondered if they ever grew tired or if they were like the ants that crawled up their trunk, busy and content with it.

They were creating something on the hill. It was large and made of stone, towering and strange. It faced their not-woods, perhaps feeling safe under their branches but still too wary to make a home in their roots. They understood. And so, they would wait. Wait and watch over these new creatures for however long they were there.

The days repeated, as did the seasons, in the same way, they always did. Until something new appeared. It was small and walked on four legs but with awkward grace. So different from the baby fawns, yet bigger than the fox kits that sometimes gathered near them. It was also bald, bald with large eyes and the barest scruff on the top of it.

How odd, they thought, how small.

Would it like to sit beneath our branches? Would it like to take shelter in our roots? We can keep you warm, they thought, warm and safe.

It walked closer and closer, and the Pear Tree could feel it on their roots, very light but clunky, it did not know how to walk over the earth properly. But that was ok, it would learn. The wolf pups were just the same until they got their balance. But that posed another question, where was its mother? Had it gone out hunting like the fox or grazing like the deer and had left the kit here with them? Or had the mother perished, as all things do in the end, and left the kit helpless and alone?

It will be all right. Their leaves whispered. We will keep you safe.

They felt tiny legs pat their trunk and it opened its mouth to babble nonsense. Just like the baby birds, all calling for their mother but not yet understanding the proper words. It would learn that too in time. There was no hurry here. Not with them.

It had been a small relief when a larger creature came running out of the rocky structure on the hill to collect the kit. It did not know how to dig yet or climb, it had no budding feathers or long legs. It also tended to wander off. Though luckily it was also easily distracted. A few flower petals floating down, or leaves was enough to grab its attention back and keep it here with them. It was no hardship for them.

This was not the last time they saw the kit. It grew slowly, quite unlike anything they had ever seen. Its awkward steps remained heavy and uncoordinated, beginning to walk on unsteady back legs instead of using all four, long after it learned to speak correctly. It was a different language than the one the Pear Tree was used to, but they learned and understood. Just as they had done for the others.

It practiced words under their branches and learned to climb with its odd little feet. Nothing like the squirrels it had been mimicking. It fell multiple times and water fell from its eyes. But the Pear Tree was there, they were comforting. Leaves would gently fall as a distraction, and they would watch and wait, and the water would soon cease, and they would try again. Like the baby bird's first flying lesson. It was like a bird, with its noise and its stubbornness, and just like the birds it learned.

Its legs grew longer day by day and their footsteps became more even, though just as loud. It liked to climb up their branches, delighted by the sky and how tall they were. It ate their fruit when it was warm and danced in their leaves when it was cool. It seemed to delight in the snow and the cold, much more than any other creature, even the hares liked to stay in their burrows whenever possible. It was an odd creature, it always had been, but they loved it all the same.

It also grew taller as the seasons passed and their scruff soon grew with it. It still wasn’t enough to cover it, but it was better than the barely-there patch the kit had had before. It showed them a book once with pictures of flowers in it, the wind helping them turn the page to their flowers, watching in delight when the kit laughed excitedly. It read a lot, under their tree. It also liked to collect the flowers that fell, sometimes weaving them into little circles that it would place on its head.

“I look like a princess! A fairy princess!” it would laugh and dance.

We’re glad you’re happy, their leaves would say.

They did not know what a princess nor a fairy was, but they would call it that all the same. Perhaps it was their unknown species, now known and shared.

Kind, they thought, trusting, cherished, and not so small. But they loved it all the same.

When they got bigger, they left for a bit. The Pear Tree was saddened and worried, but they knew, as all old trees knew, that things changed and moved on. It would come back or it wouldn't and they would cherish the birds, the squirrels, the deer, and the bees, just as they always did, as they always would.

The kit came back after several seasons. It was not a kit anymore, large like the others of its kind. Fairies were tall after all, even though they all still walked funny. It had another Fairy with it, similar in size but not in face. Their legs were grasped together, much like otters with their young but softer. They spent the day under their branches, weaving those strange flower circles again and dancing around full of laughter. It was a good feeling.

We’re glad you’re happy, their leaves shook. We’re glad you’re back.

Their Fairy brought more people to the Pear Tree soon after that. They had strange fur-but-not on and all their teeth were bared. They did not seem angry though. They seemed excited. What strange creatures Fairies could be. There was a lot of singing and dancing under their branches. The fairies ate and laughed and were merry. Their Fairy and its companion ate fruit from their tree before they all walked back to the hill.

How lively, they mused.

It was a long time before they saw their Fairy again. It came up the hill with three small Fairies in tow. Oh, they realized. Their fairy had kits of its own and was bringing them to see the Pear Tree, still old and tall and wise. They were welcome under their branches, even with their heavy and uncoordinated feet. Their Fairy had been the same after all, the kits always mimicked the mother. They would learn, there was no rush or hurry beneath their leaves.

They saw their Fairy in spurts after that. Some short glimpses, some long. It came to them once with that strange rain streaming down their face and making horrible grieving sounds.

We’re sorry, they whispered. We do not know why you hurt, but we are here. We will always be here.

Seasons passed again and again. Their Fairy made a nest in the strange stone structure on the hill and its kits brought their own kits and they too were taken down to the Pear Tree. Each time, they loved and cherished them too. Their Fairy was getting older though, it was walking slower and was unsteady. Their roots could feel the weakness and they knew. They had had a long time with their Fairy, much longer than any creature before them except, perhaps, the saplings.

You had a good life, they whispered as their flowers floated down, we love you. You are content and cherished. Even when you are gone, we will still cherish all of you.

Their Fairy wrapped its legs around them that day, like an otter, and pressed its face into their bark. They could feel it shaking and whispering. It must know too, of what was coming.

That was the last time they saw their Fairy. It had stumbled back up to its nest on the hill. It did not come back down. Later, another large group of Faeries came down to their not-woods. They were carrying a box of some sort and a strange tool. They dug up the ground beneath them to their confusion. Most of them had that strange rain pouring down their faces.

Grieving, they recognized.

Do not be sad, they comforted, leaves falling into the hole with the box. Their Fairy had a good life. Do not grieve. We are here. We will shelter and cherish you too.

Seasons passed again and the Pear Tree was content. They had placed a large stone above the box beneath their branches. Faeries would often come to visit but would not stay. They were sad and the Pear Tree stayed with them, comforting and safe, they would always be with them.

But they could sense something happening. Something new. Something was growing they realized, brand new and small, a sapling perhaps or a flower or even a new blade of grass. Their roots felt everything, and they were excited to see this new life, to welcome it, cherish it, and protect it.

It took a few more seasons before it had the energy to sprout. It was small and green and tiny, sprouting out before the stone.

How small, they mused, how odd.

To pick this place to grow right beneath them, perhaps, it realized it was safe beneath them, perhaps the stone was useful in calling for new life. They did not know, but they were happy all the same.

“We are here.” They whispered, “Do not be afraid, new life. We are here and we will protect you. Come. See the light. Come. Tell us your name.”

“Fairy.” A weak, small voice replied. “We are Fairy.”