The Willow

We never spoke to those identified as human. I watched, silently, as many selected my brothers to cull. We watched their amorous youths carve words into our bark. We screamed as fire burned our waists, heating and crackling our sap. We watch as their children gather our fallen branches to make games. We watch as some pick up stone and our seeds to keep. Every now and then, we whisper, making them listen as wind drifts through our leaves and needles, hearing our warnings of the woods.

But we are not alone. Not in this forest.

There are creatures among our bodies. A doe, a stag, gliding over our limbs on massive wings. A wolf sporting a draconian tail, devouring berries and carcasses. A hippogriff, feasting on weasels as it mothers its chick. A kelpie basking on a stone by a pond, its seaweed body tempting creatures to come close, close enough to become food. Small rabbit with tiny prongs on their heads, nibbling on fallen seeds and clover. Rabbits nestled in our branches with sparrow wings, making nests and burrows to chirp and sing to their babies. Serpents that shimmer in many colors, hiding among the ground to devour the seed size fairies that tempt the human to become one with the woods. There is an amphiptere that chirps along the Oak brothers, nestled down in a hole with chicks, feasting on my brothers seeds.

And the shades. Small spirits born into the darkness of our home. Little children, lost among our roots. I can hear them cry, whimper for their mothers. Plead for their fathers. Some even pray for their monsters to leave. But all are lost. Little creatures left for the woods, forgotten along my sisters and my brothers. I use my roots to keep them safe. It’s the least I can do, as their lost, weak bodies gave me nourishment. My roots, i can feel them take the shape of their forgotten bones.

Little shades find each other, giggling as they remember that despite death. They are free and painless. IF I could smile, I would as they flickered about in the shadows, playing little games.

But now I heard a new sound. The soft whimpering of a new child of the woods. A lostling, scared and cold. I let the wind shake out my message, having it flitter to the lostling.

“Come this way, this way. Come rest by my roots, safe. Safe, safe.” I sent out my whispers, beckoning to shield them by my waist. My branches shiver down seeds, to nourish the little lostling.

And I can see her now. A tiny thing, no bigger than a flying fawn. She was cold, her little arms cuddling her belly to preserve warmth.

“Mommy...Mommy, where are you?” I heard her whimper.

“MY roots, sleep by my roots, Safe. Safe, safe.” I kept on whispering.

“Mommy?” my branches trembled, making faint music to soothe the lostling.

There was an opening under my roots, made by a bear sleeping for its first winter without its dam. The bear was long gone, but the nest remained. It left furs and grass to make the hole warm, so it was perfect for the lostling.

“Sleep here. Safe, safe, safe.” I kept on whispering. Unlike my brothers and sisters, I never held animosity toward humans. Humans are sweet, taking shelter under my branches, making promises as my leaves fell like dropped gold. Humans have carved names into my trunk, I admit, but every year, I see them come back, kissing my scarred body and renewing promises. I make whispers as women took shelter under my branches, weeping for love.

But this little lostling needs me. It needs my branches, my seeds, my burrow under the roots.

“Safe. Safe, safe. Rest here. Safe, safe.” I kept on whispering. If I can cheer, I would as she crept into the burrow. Safe from the bite of the wind, the angry whispers of my brothers and sisters.

“Hello? Who is there?” the lostling asked out. Now that piqued my interest. Can she hear my songs? My whispers?

“You hear me? You can hear, hear, hear?” I whispered. The lostling flinched.

“Who is that? Who are you? Can you help me find my mommy?” she asked, looking around.

“Willow. I am willow. Rest by my roots. I keep safe. Safe, safe.” I kept on whispering, watching the lostling begin to get closer.

“You are willow? The tree?” she asked, approaching.

“Yes. I am willow. Tree, tree, tree. I keep safe.” I whispered. I could feel joy, a little one who can hear my whispers.

The wind shook my leaves, making drop seeds in front of the lostling.

“Eat. Seeds good. Eat seeds.” I whispered. My branches shook with glee as the little one quickly devoured my seeds.

Once she was full, I watched as she slipped into the burrow, her shivering stopping.

“Sleep. Safe now. Sleep.” I whispered. I allowed the wind to shudder my branches, turning my whispers into a lullaby. The lostling must have been tired, as she was asleep within a few minutes. As she slept, I kept her safe, warning the wolves and serpents to let her be.

“Amy! Amy, where are you?!” I heard a frantic voice call out. But it was far off, too far for the lostling to hear.

“Amy!”

“Amy! Please, answer us!” It didn’t take long for me to realize the lostling was named Amy. I must let out my whispers.

“This way, this way. Lost little here. This way.” I whispered, drawing over the humans calling for the lostling.

“Amy?” A woman’s voice asked, her own whisper weary and dull.

“Here. Lostling here. Safe in roots. Safe, safe, safe.” I whispered out. Shaking my branches, dropping my seeds, I did all I could to bring the humans here. To my surprise, my brothers let out their own louder whispers, their larger limbs banging like drums, their trunk creaking.

“Little one here. Safe. Safe. By roots.” My brothers whispered. We kept on whispering, as more brothers and sisters whispered to lead them to the lostling in my burrow.

“Amy? Amy!” Using my will, I reached out to a shade.

“Help. Help lostling. No shade her.” I asked. The shade giggled and flickered away, but I knew it heard me. The shades hear the voices of the forest.

“This way! Come find me!” The shade shouted,

“Amy! Amy!” the humans sounded closer. The shade laughed.

“Come find me! Come find me! "the shade squealed, adoring this new game given to it. I shook my branches more.

“Over here. Here, safe in roots.” I whispered, hoping that my words can be heard.

“I’m over here! Come find me!” the shade let out a loud, squealing giggle and dissipated. Storming through the heavy thickets of hawthorn and snowberry, was a man.

“Amy?” he called out. Good.

I shook my roots, too small of a tremor for the adult man to feel, but just right for the lostling. I can feel her awakening.

“Daddy?” the little lostling crawled out of my burrow and shrieked. She ran to the man, who fell to the forest floor crying. Faintly, I can feel their tears nourishing my miniscule saplings.

“Amy... you’re okay. Thank god you’re okay!” the man wailed. Amy, the lostling, then looked towards the top of my trunk. She was smiling.

“Thank you, willow.” Amy whispered to me. I shook my branches.

“You safe now. Stay safe...”

As both the man and little Amy walked away, I heard the lostling to her father, “Did you hear the willow speak?”

“Trees don’t speak, sweetie.”

“This one does.”