Safe

Feet thud against grass and ground. The impacts send vibrations through the earth and to my roots below. Everything runs. Squirrels, rabbits, deer, foxes. A human running isn’t odd, although this part of the woods has not seen human activity in a long time. Our fruits are not meant for human hands. That is an honor reserved for the gods.

Do you feel them? I send along the network of roots that span across the grove. The answers come slow, but that is fine. Slow is in our nature.

I do.

Human?

They don’t feel like a god.

One of us should take a look.

I’ll do it. My words surprise me, and for a moment my leaves quiver. But I can’t take them back, either. I want to see what a human would be doing in a grove meant for gods. This is something I can’t do as I am, tied to my tree and sleeping under the bark. But that will not stop me.

Do it. Do it. Do it. It is a chorus of voices urging me on, speaking to the curiosity that thrums in my sap.

I will.

With that promise made, I pull from my tree. It isn’t a pleasant process; it never has been. Being disconnected from the network of voices is disorientating. No longer do I have many branching arms reaching towards the sky, heavy with fruits and leaves, instead I have two measly ones and only ten fingers to my name. I stumble when I hit the ground, instinctually reaching down for stability with my roots … of which I have none. The lack jars me. I suck in my first lungful of air.

The human spins around with a shriek, their long dark curls and white cloth flashing. It is impossible to tell whether they are male or female, I don’t know how humans differentiate, but the shock they wear is clear to see. They stumble away from me, trip on their dress, and fall to the ground.

I reach out, mouth opening, but the sight of my human hands makes me freeze. The small, slim fingers absent of brilliant green growth, the warm brown of my skin – not bark. So soft. It is always a shock when I slip into this form. I open my mouth, close it again. Humans use words, not the understanding I am used to through roots and leaves. How do … how do humans speak again?

“S-stay back!” The human cries, their mouth opening and closing with the words. They scramble back until they hit another tree, an apple instead of a pear like mine.

Oh yes, humans make sounds with their mouths. What an inefficient way to speak. I work my jaw, run my tongue over my lips, and try. My voice comes out in a croak, and the human winces. I do as well. That … will not work quite yet. I raise my hands to show I mean no harm.

They flinch again at the movement. “Please," it is a ragged gasp of a word, “Please, I – don’t come any closer.”

I wonder if something is wrong with my appearance. But I set the thought aside and work my jaw for a moment longer. A second time, then. “N-not.” It is a croaking rasp, but at least it is also an identifiable word.

Their face shifts, confusion, I think. “Y-you can speak?” That fact seems to ease them a bit. They loosen, staring at me. “Not what? Not going to hurt me? Not what?”

Third time's the charm. “Not safe for you here.” The words come slow, cracked, and broken, and for a moment, I think they cannot understand me.

They can.

Their whole face twists, flinches, before breaking. Their eyes are suddenly glossy, pain filled. I notice for the first time how thin they are, like a bundle of dried twigs. Hollows nestle in their face, filled with shadows. Maybe I am getting used to human body language once more, but … they look hungry. Humans can’t make their own food. I wonder when they last ate.

“Why?” They choke out, and I pull myself from my thoughts. “Why is it not safe here? No one goes here. No one lives here. I should be safe. So, why?”

Ah, foolish human. They cannot understand something that is so clear. I press my hands against the ground and make myself as small as possible, even if my words ring out loud. “God grove. Humans aren’t welcome here.”

For a moment, I think they don’t understand. They stare at me, eyes wide, then they fall like their trunk has been cut. Their knees and hands hit the ground. Their head bends forwards, that dark hair swinging out to block my view. “No.” It is a hoarse sound. “No no no. I – no! It can’t be. This is sacrilege. I didn’t know! I swear, I swear, I didn’t know!” Their shoulders jerk again. They make a noise, I’ve never heard it before, but it sounds like they are choking.

I scramble forwards before thought comes in, faster than I am used to moving. My hand lands on a thin shoulder. They tremble beneath my touch. “It’s alright. You haven’t been found yet.”

“I’m going to die!” They jerk up, yank from my grip. Their eyes are wild. Their cheeks glisten. “I came here for safety, and I will die for it! How can it be alright?”

“You’re weeping sap.” I mumble.

“I’m crying!” They snap back. “I’m crying because I’m going to die for entering a sacred place to save my life! No wonder they didn’t follow me. They knew I was as good as dead.”

I don’t understand. They’d been fleeing, yes, but that is a familiar feeling to my roots. Had they been running from a predator? Oh, poor human. They’ve run into the jaws of greater danger, and I don’t think they deserve to suffer such a fate. I reach out again and cup their cheek. They freeze as my finger swipes over that glistening skin. Water. Even with a skin covering, I know the sensation well. “Do not give up hope. There is time for you. Time is not the same here. We belong to the gods. Time does too. When you leave, you will be safe.”

“I don’t understand.” They choke out. Their eyes close. They lean into my touch. “I don’t understand.”

“You have been here longer than you think. I've heard the gods speak. Time is different here.”

“I’ll be safe?” Their eyes open again, and they search my face. “Truly?”

“If you leave now.” I pull away and push myself up. They watch me, trembling. The thinness in their limbs eats at me. I move back to my tree, and one of the branches bends. My fingers close around a pear and tug it off. Barely a moment later, I am pressing it into their hands. “Take my token and run. It will carry you to safety until you reach home. Then you may eat.”

They move, sudden and fast, an arm around my neck, a warm body presses against mine. They are soft, all curves and skin, and it feels like our forms are melting together, made into one. “Thank you, thank you." As fast as they had come, they pull away. The swallow, nod, and for a second their lips tug up, tremble. “Thank you. I will never forget this. You have my gratitude forever.” Then they spin around and run.

I watch them move, stunned by the contact and the feeling of their breath on my skin. Their feet thud against the ground, their white cloth and dark curls trailing after them before they are swallowed by the trees. Gone. Our meeting had been fleeting, but I can still feel their touch, their hands on my back and their lips against my ear.

Useless thoughts. I shake myself and turn back to my tree. Within moments, I am swallowed by the bark. Gone is that soft skin, face and fingers and toes. Now my roots stretch solid beneath the ground, twined with many others. My leaves drink in the sunlight, branches pressing against those around me. Still, I can feel the human’s touch. I do my best to put it from my mind.

Back?

Back.

Who was it?

A human.

There is a rustle through the branches at the words. A human doesn’t feel right. They are more than human, that thin person with the wild eyes and dark curls. Humans have names. I wish I had thought to take theirs.

What did they want?

The question rustles again, over, and under through the trees. I wait a moment for the echoes to fade, then murmur my answer back. They wanted to be safe.

Something thumps the ground above my roots. It feels heavy, too heavy to belong to one of my fruits. The sensation is followed by another. The impact sends vibrations through the dirt. Is it rock? It would have to be. Nothing else I know is heavy enough to qualify. I still do not understand how it is falling at my roots. The others in the grove can’t throw it. That requires hands.

Hands …

For a moment, I almost hope it’s the human again. I don’t know why, but the thought has me pushing out of my bark almost as soon as I claim it. I want to see the human. I want to make sure they’re okay. The image of their hungry, fearful face is as present as sunlight.

My feet hit the ground, and I stumble. The dirt is cool to the touch of this soft human body. I spend a moment standing there, blinking, my fingers gripping the bark of my tree as I reorient myself to two legs and nothing more. My gaze lands on a stone near me. There’s dirt kicked up from the impact. Another juts half out of the grass. Someone’s been throwing stones. My chest leaps. I am unused to the feeling, unable to tell what it means.

Another stone comes hurtling out of the trees. My eyes widen, I stumble away. It hits the ground with a soft thud, kicking up dirt and grass. The sun catches on the gray surface. Before I think, I’m stumbling forward. There’s something stuck in my throat.

They wouldn’t have come back. Not that frightened human with the dark curls, so scared of upsetting their gods. They wouldn’t come back. Yet, I’m pulled forwards as if something’s grabbed my branches and tugged, rain making the ground soft beneath my roots and the wind pushing at my back. I can’t help but move forward. Over the ground and stumbling across the grass, the roots. The grove is different like this. The sun illuminates my path through the leaves, dapples across the ground as if lighting up my trail.

And humans see the world like this all the time. It’s fascinating.

The trees pass by, so different with eyes like these. Apple, other pears, cherry trees. Towers of bark and leaves. They cast shadows in my path, yet I don’t stop. I stumble forwards until I can’t anymore, something gripping my core and holding me there. My tree. I’m too far. Breathing feels wrong, constricted. Finally, I am consumed with the urge to run back and slip under the safety of my bark.

I can’t. My human feet have rooted to the earth, as solidly as any tree. My hands are stuck by my side, my eyes locked on the form in front of me.

It’s the human. My human. They scrounge in the foliage right outside the grove’s borders, their fingers wrapping around another rock. They stand, falter. Their eyes widen. Their gaze locks on me.

They are different from when I last saw them. No longer do shadows lay claim to their face. No longer are they a bundle of twigs. The white cloth they wear almost shines in the sunlight. Their hair gleams with remains of an earlier rain. I can taste the water in the air on my breath. Heavy. Heady. We are separated by a boundary, a line between the mortal and the divine, but here on the edge we may meet. My hand twitches. My skin remembers the feel of their warmth.

“You came.” Their voice is a whisper.

I sway with it. My mouth opens, closes. When I finally manage to muster the words I want, it comes just as slow as last time. “What are you doing here?” I do not say it’s dangerous. We both already know that.

“I wanted to thank you. Again.” They hesitate. “You saved my life that night. I thought it was a dream, but … here you are.” A small sound comes at that, an almost laugh that I can’t parse out.

“Here I am.” I work out.

I don’t know what to do. We stand there, staring at each other. There’s a wind kicking up, from their side of the barrier to mine. It presses cold against my face. With it comes the smell of greenery and rain. They lean forwards slightly, as if pushed. I think they want to hold me again. Some part of me would not mind if they did.

“You are well?” I ask instead. My fingers twitch again. The gap is too big to bridge with human limitations. I wish I were tree again, so I could stretch my branches to them, let their fingers wrap around my limbs.

They start, their forward progress halted. After a moment, their head bobs. “Yeah.” Another strained half laugh. “I’m actually going to be married soon. Just … wanted to check you were real. Not something I’d dreamt up.”

I don’t know all the words they say, but they’re standing stiffer now, flesh replaced by wood. It’s wrong, and I don’t know how to fix it, don’t know if I can. Instead, I attempt a smile. “I’m real.”

“I can see that.” Another hesitation, a shake of their head. “I – thanks, I guess. You saved my life. So, thank you.”

“Of course.” The words feel hollow. My fingers twitch again, seeking warmth. I’m now the one leaning forward, straining against my bond. They’re sunlight, and I can’t help but be drawn towards them.

Their throat bobs as they swallow. “I – I can’t stay for long. I need to go; I’ll be missed otherwise.” They lean back as they say it, eyes flicking away, back again. Dark and quick and flashing.

“Your name!” The words burst from me, trip, and tumble over one another in their rush to pour from my mouth. “What’s your name?”

They blink. A smile bursts across their face. “Vasiliki. My name’s Vasiliki.”

My mouth shapes the syllables, tastes it on my tongue. Vasiliki. It’s a burst of sweet coolness, rainwater. The syllables roll over one another until all I can think of is a brook, silver song slipping through the air. My mouth moves on its own. “You are welcome here, Vasiliki. As long as you do not pass the line, you are welcome.”

Their breath blooms in the silence between us. The dark curls of their hair bounce as they nod. “Alright. Yeah. I – … it’s an honor.”

“Yes.”

We’re staring at each other again, and the simple divide feels like a chasm, stretching down and down and down to darkness. We’re teetering at the edge. Either one of us might fall. That doesn’t stop my arm reaching out as far as I can, woefully short from where my branches would have stopped. It doesn’t stop their palm from falling into mine. Soft and smooth and warm. Living. I can feel the thrum of their pulse beneath my fingertips.

Vasiliki comes again. Again, and again. Sometimes it’s their rocks that summon me. Sometimes I take human form and sit at the edge of my bond, waiting for them to appear. I’m good at waiting, but this is the first impatience has made me twitchy. Sometimes I have to go back to my tree empty-handed. Other times they appear like ghosts, smile brilliant on their face.

We talk. Vasiliki’s stories are all about life outside the grove. Their wedding. Their husband. Once they’re gone for long, too long, and when they come back it’s with stories of their child. I return with my tales of my seedlings, growing strong in the grove at my back. Vasiliki drinks in any story I give them like water. I find myself turning over their words in my mind even after I slip back under my back.

The world they describe is so fascinating, and I can’t help but be enthralled. I spend more time in human form than I should, wandering through the trees and seeing from a human’s perspective. Every little thing I took for granted before is made more beautiful than it had been. Fascinating.

I should have known that I would draw attention from the gods.

“Look at this.”

I pull from the beetle I am examining, glance to where two women stand on the path. One is dark haired, silver eyed, strong. Her chest plate gleams brilliant gold. The other is smaller, slimmer, her hair liquid moon beams. There’s a wildness to her that calls to me, makes my blood stir. I want to run. Forget my roots and forget my tree and forget everything tying me here. Run and chase and –

“How odd for a dryad to pull from her tree.” The dark haired one murmurs. “Enjoying the sun?”

I scramble to my feet. My bow is hesitant. “Yes, my lady.”

“Careful there.” The silver one whispers. Her voice is just as wild as her. “Some gods would be more than willing to prey on a defenseless dryad.” Her smile parts, too thin and too sharp. “Should they give you trouble, come to me. I will take you in.”

I don’t know what she means by that. It must show on my face because the other shakes her head.

“Soft hearted, Artemis, but it is interesting. It’s rare that the ones in this grove take a fascination with things outside their tree. But as long as she doesn’t do anything she’s not supposed to, it’s fine. Come, we have a meeting to attend to.”

With that, she walks off, armor flashing with the sun’s rays. Silver – Artemis – doesn’t move. Her eyes watch me, bore in. I can’t breathe. I wonder if she knows all about my meetings with Vasiliki. I am not supposed to have those.

“Think about it.” She murmurs, and then she’s gone, just as fast as the wind.

And I can breathe again. But there is a tightness in my chest I’m unaccustomed to. I want to pull my roots inwards, my branches closer, as if to take shelter in a storm. My breath is too fast. My heart too loud. I have not known this feeling before, but I recognize it. Fear.

When Vasiliki appears again, I see it again. Fear. Like the time we first met, scared as a hunted rabbit. Wild eyes, pounding breath. I nearly recoil to see them like this. I’ve gotten used to their happiness, their occasional stiffness. The blackness that hangs over their sunshine smile terrifies me. But still, I reach out for her, hand stretching over the divide, body straining against the bond. I want to help. I want her safe.

“What happened?”

Vasiliki lunges across the barrier, into my arms, the first time we’ve properly touched in a long time. I wrap my arms around them, hold them close as possible as their body shakes, sobs. Water hits my skin. For once, I refuse to drink it. Their tears do not give the blessing rain brings. Not when their story comes out in sporadic gasps and bursts. Famine. War. Their crops burned and their husband gone. Their child is starving. They don’t know if their family will survive the coming winter.

I don’t know winter. Not personally. Cold does not make a home in this grove. But it makes something in me stir, like Artemis did. Something carried over from long ago. Fear, again. An instinctual need to go lethargic and sleep. Save my energy. Drop my leaves. Hibernate until the cold leaves and the warmth comes back.

If humans are anything like that, then Vasiliki and their child will need food. Yet, they have none. They’ll stave before winter can lift its claws.

Once life was slow. Now, it’s barely a second before I move. I tug Vasiliki close, press my face against their hair, and breathe in the smell of sweat and smoke. Human smells. Something I have become used to, although smoke makes me recoil. Fear again. A promise from the future.

“Stay here.” I breathe. “I’ll be back. As soon as possible.”

I don’t let them reply. I pull away. It is my turn to run, feet pounding against the dirt and my heart pounding with it.

It is simplicity itself to find a sapling. A pear, like me. It might even be one of my saplings. I don’t know. I don’t care. My fingers scrabble at the grass anyway. It comes in clumps, splatters behind me. Soon my hands are digging into soft dirt. The earth clogs my fingernails, the cracks in my skin. Yet still, I dig.

I will be burned for this. My tree rooted up and destroyed. This is beyond sacrilege. This is desecration. I should be scared. I should be terrified. But somehow, I do not care. All I want is for Vasiliki to live. Their child to live. Somehow, in the time I’ve known them, Vasiliki has become important enough to risk everything.

So, I will.

My fingers hit the rough texture of roots. They scrape against my palms as I push my awareness into this sapling, this child. Let go. Loosen. It will have a new home, with a new family, that will treat it well. It will get to experience the world beyond the grove. All the dangers. All the wonders. It might never wake properly, but it will be loved.

It lets go, and I pull it into my arms, cradle it close. I can’t feel the protests and warnings from the others beneath my feet, but I can imagine it all too well. The ghosts of them pound against my skin as I run back to Vasiliki.

They have not left yet. Crying, yes. Looking so tiny and alone, fragile, breakable, but still here. Still, looking up at my approach. “You’re –“

“No time.” I push the sapling into their arms, close their fingers around its slender trunk. “Take this, plant it in your fields. It will keep the famine away. Treat it well, and it will do more. Let it grow tall and strong. Let it give you food for as long as you need.” A breath, a swallow. “Let it remind you of me.”

“What? No! You’re talking like this is the last time we’ll see each other.” They don’t leave. They stand there, balancing on the precipice.

But I’ve fallen long before them, and I can say only one thing. So, I shake my head and run instead. It hangs there, my last word to them.

"Run."

My tree has never been so large, so uncomfortable, before. Too many arms, too many branches. It no longer feels right. I am so used to leaning forwards, reaching out, that it feels wrong to stand tall and reach up towards the sun. But for once, the peaceful quiet of the grove is nowhere. Instead, chaos thunders around me.

What were you thinking?

They’ll be angry.

You’ll be burned.

Why?

I know the answer down to my very sap. I want them to be safe.