The Forgotten Forest

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. When I was a child, my mother would tell me stories of the land before the dragons came. Weaving wonderful tales of lush greenery and towering trees, trees my mother told us, the village people used to build their homes in. She would laugh about lazy days spent in large lakes that boardered our land, catching fish on canoes built from the very trees surrounding their homes. She would recall beautiful days filled with bird-song and whispers of wind rolling through the trees.

Trees we now didn’t have to spare us from the mercy of the two suns in the sky. Bird-song, that was now nothing but the cry of vultures when the suns rose high and it was too hot to stay outside. Lakes that had been reduced to small ponds from the heat of the days, with hardly enough fish to keep our small village fed. Trees, that we no longer had. Trees, I could only see from a towering stone pillar, that climbed high in the sky, overlooking everything; even, the valley with the dragons. A pillar, my mother would say, that only the bravest would climb to give thanks to the Moon Goddess on the winter solstice, and seek forgiveness for misgivings.

She would tell me these stories, and stare lovingly into my eyes, and recall how they looked just like the depths of the forest at night. And so, she would end her stories and tell me that was how my name came to be, Frith. From the olden language meaning Forest.

No matter how many times she told this story I loved to hear it. Her voice was a melody that had me drifting off to sleep but, the story held me hypnotized and wanderlust. I wanted the greenery of the trees and the bird-song, I was envious of my mother for growing up in such a time.

We all knew the forest disappeared after the war started. We knew, all too well, how it vanished. Sucked into an unknown place, only to be returned when we earned forgiveness for our greed.

When the dragons came, they descended from the Heavens. Their wings caught the light to look like the stained glass in the blacksmiths shop. They held horns that protruded from their heads like fierce crowns. Their scales glittered like the necklace my mother kept in her bedside table, a gift from father before he fell to winters sleeping sickness. She would claim it was too lovely to wear and warned me, ‘lovely things were meant to be admired not adorned.’ The dragons were indeed lovely. They communicated to us in a way we knew not possible at the time. For each mind they touched with their true voices, they bestowed a gift. But, mankind was greedy, the dragons were selective with who they chose, and men sought them out.

When man realized they could not provoke the dragons into using their ability, they murdered the great beasts. They sought them for the hide they wore, to adorn it like armor for its durability and ability to repel flames. They sought the wings of dragons for their beauty, only to wear them as clothes that looked dull in comparison. Their claws and bones, man took to forge crude weapons, unnecessary for hunting what was needed to survive.

The only thing not beautiful about the dragons, was their shriek. Until the war, they had spared us the pain of their false voices. The dragons war-cry shook the earth and dislodged trees, the ears of men would bleed and were left useless.

With the new age of man’s greed and the dragons wrath, we feared the trees would not be enough protection. So, we fled to the ground and disturbed the earths slumber, digging away to produce horrible stone buildings that blighted the surface of our world like a plague.

Throughout the war, man and dragon took turns exchanging blows, with each dragon killed and brought back for its hide, its wings, its bones or tallons; another human city would burn away, while the dragons swept over head, shrieking with their false voices. Man was truly at war with the beasts that descended from the Heavens. And, we were losing, our numbers dwindling.

It was said the Moon Goddess witnessed it all. Her own children hurting each other over greed and retribution. She felt slighted that man would overlook her own beautiful gift to them, the forest. And instead, covet what was not theirs, the dragons. So she punished them. The forest withdrew from the land around the valley, sucked away like water in a cup, draining the beauty from our worlds surface. The rains, she foretold, would no longer come, as they were a blessing we did not deserve. It was said she contained the entirety of that beauty in a vessel and hid it away. It was only to be released when humans no longer coveted what was not theirs, truly repented for what they had done, and saw how their greed effected not only the dragons but themselves.

After the forest was sucked from our world, the dragons withdrew to the valley, they claimed the land for their own and refused man when they pleaded for help. The birds flew to the valley to follow their instincts to survive. It forced us to adapt. No longer could we rely on the forest for its plentiful hunting. No longer did we have the trees to block the suns wrath. Fishing and sustaining our meager village was now a battle of survival; until, that is, the lake dried up. And for the first time, man saw how absolutely dismal their chances were.

In a last effort to appease the slighted Goddess, man after man- night after night, they would climb the pillar with what little strength they had. Man would Prostrate themselves and, with mournful cries, pray for forgiveness all while begging mercy. They offered what little they had taken from the dragons. Seeing man give up the object of their greed, she allowed the rains to come back to fill the lakes enough for us to fish. She warned man though, we were not forgiven, death was too kind for our misgivings, and until we repented and no longer coveted the power and beauty the dragons held; the forest would not return.