Ch. 1 – No. 7: We Meet Again
Clove has a strange encounter in the forest.
Viscous juices clung to Clove’s knife as she sliced through another handful of warblewort stems. Seeking some semblance of rhythm during her first several days in the house, she had been obsessively gathering resources from the forest while scouting the area more thoroughly than was possible when she’d had her caravan duties to attend to.
This patch of warblewort was extensive, and Clove had been elated to find such an abundance of her favorite herb. Robust, leafy stalks brimmed from the basket pack beside her. But before she could situate the freshly cut handful among the rest, a rush of air and blurred motion whirled down from above. Her pulse quickened, senses keen, her grip on the knife tightening. A large bird came into focus, now standing still and silent on a large rock in front of her, long neck and slender legs accentuated by his position above where Clove was knelt on the ground. She knew him immediately, holding his gaze in a long moment of stasis while those familiar, otherworldly fibers radiated from the feathery body, faintly luminescent, snaking through the air toward Clove.
“Hi again,” Clove said. The crane ruffled his wings. “Lovely day, no? Nice and hot.”
And then a reedy, steady treble rang from the bird’s parted beak, oscillations of familiar notes vibrating through the clearing. He cycled through a simple melody twice, then looked to Clove knowingly.
“Hey, you remembered my melody!” she beamed up at him. “Want to try another one?” Retrieving her flute from her satchel, Clove sat pensive for a moment before easing into a leisurely improvisation. The crane stood attentive, head tilting, listening for several moments before picking up on the core melody and joining in.
Clove and the crane tumbled through sequences, each finding a new melody now and then, the other following along. And then the crane fell silent and Clove did too. The two creatures studied one another momentarily before the crane spread his great wings, feathers unfurling from his slender body like a lily bloom whose petals seem far too grand to have been curled up in that little bud. Billowing wingbeats bore him into the air, across the clearing, and over the treetops. Plump down feathers trailed in his wake and Clove caught one as it floated down before her. She studied it, brushing its impossibly delicate ends lightly with a forefinger.
Over the course of a short moment, a glow began radiating from the feather before it disappeared completely in a burst of light.
“Gone! It’s gone,” Clove exclaimed in a hushed tone of wonder as the fingers which had pinched the little feather fell tentatively open.
Meanwhile, the crane had touched down elsewhere in the forest. Talons plod along damp soil and decaying leaves while Yonderwood Creek trickled steadily behind him.
And then a radiant light consumed the crane, blooming outward, obscuring the bird’s form so much that the transformation from talon to boot was seamless, nearly imperceptible. Where claws had sunk into the soil, two booted feet continued on the crane’s path without pause or falter.
Cool evening air crept into the growing shadows as the sun dipped low beyond the treetops of the Circadian Forest. Leaves fluttered in Clove’s wake as she crossed the threshold of her house, her pack brimming with leafy warblewort stalks while more were tied into a great bale which rested horizontally across her shoulders above the woven top of the pack. A dense bundle of kindling was tied below the pack.
Clove swept a section of floor clean before placing her haul down beside the table. A sound came from behind her, a dull thud that had become familiar. Dropping down from inside of the chimney into the cool ash of the hearth, was Fig. He did this regularly yet never tracked soot, and even as the plump creature slunk down onto the floorboards from the stove’s maw, he plod over to Clove leaving no trace of the inky cinder through which he’d undoubtedly passed.
“Hey Fig,” she greeted him, and he chortled a small acknowledgement.
Unease had weighed on Clove following her strange interaction earlier in the day, but this seemed to dissipate as the creature sauntered over to inspect the fresh harvest. She found herself grinning as he gingerly bit a leaf from a stalk, scrunching his round eyes shut when the spice of it hit his tongue. Despite a brief moment of bewilderment, he repeated the process.
Sitting down on the stool beside the table, Clove exhaled the day through pursed lips. A pail sat at her feet while she gulped down a cup of water, ladled more into it from the pail, and drank the cup dry once more, doing this several times. And then she noticed something: the pot of soil on the windowsill had changed. Poking out of the center was a squat little sprout, its stem ever so dainty, three thin leaves curling out from the top.
“The seed…!” Clove gasped. “It sprouted. It really sprouted…”
Reference Materials:
This has been the final installment of chapter 1.
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