Chapter 7 #2
Willow’s mossy green gaze ping-ponged between them a moment. “How… interesting.”
The tour continued as Willow showed where some of the more mature Dyrads were…
planted? Instead of sprouts or featureless Groot babies, there were fully-formed Dryads rooted in the earth.
Some were clearly still children, speaking and giggling with their neighbors as they spoke in a whistling, breezy language that sounded like the wind.
Then there were teenage Dryads with their noses stuck in books or eyes glued to their phones. Uprooted Dryads mingled with them as well, chatting or even teaching them school lessons, if the portable blackboards were any indication.
Most of them stared at Bryce as they passed by, just as gobsmacked to be seeing him as he was seeing them. A few waved at him, and he waved back. Most just watched him distrustfully, whispering amongst themselves in their strange language.
“Don’t they get bored?” he asked as he watched several tweens pass a piece of fruit around, like a stationary game of Catch. “They can’t go anywhere.”
“They have no need to go anywhere,” Willow said easily. “They know only a stationary life. They are surrounded by their sisters, by their mothers, entirely immersed in the root system. There is much to learn and much to share. For them, there is no need for anything else.”
“Until they hear the calling,” Bryce said, and Willow nodded.
“Yes, then the itch starts.”
A guttural cry echoed on the breeze, cutting off whatever Bryce would have said in response. Willow turned abruptly, releasing a worried whistling sound, like high winds blowing through the slim crack of a window. Another scream followed, and Willow immediately broke into a light jog.
Bryce and Zef exchanged an unsure look before they followed her. A group of Dryads gathered ahead of them, and Willow stopped several yards away, lifting a hand to bring Bryce and Zef to a halt as well.
“I must leave you now,” she said, lilting voice tighter than before. “You may watch, but you must not interfere. Do you understand?”
It was meant for them both, but she was looking at Bryce. So he was the one to respond. “Of course. We can go if—”
“As long as you remain quiet and watch from afar, you don’t have to leave,” she interrupted, already backing toward the growing group of Dryads. “This is a very important moment, and it must not be interrupted.”
“We shall remain here,” Zef said firmly, and this must have been enough to alleviate her worries. She turned and rushed to join the throng.
“An uprooting?” Bryce asked in a whisper.
“Yes,” Zef said, just as quietly. “It will be intense, and at times, difficult to watch. If you would like to leave at any time, I will accompany you back to the gates. Willow will understand.”
Bryce inched closer to Zef, dropping his volume even more. “Have you seen this before?”
“Only once. A film in school, but never in person,” they whispered back.
To be honest, there wasn’t much to actually see, given the crowd of Dryads encircling the sapling that was uprooting. But as the Dryads shifted, Bryce caught sight of a tall, thin Dryad with short, leafy hair. Her bark was lighter, like an aspen tree, and her leaves were golden yellow.
She gripped the arms of an elder Dryad as she swayed and twisted in place, her face screwed up in pain.
Like birth, Willow had said. And, yes, Bryce understood what she meant.
This girl wasn’t birthing a child, of course, but the struggle was the same.
A pushing and pulling as she fought to free herself from the earth.
She screamed, and the Dryads surrounding her screamed with her. Like they shared her pain, they wailed with her, wept with her, until it was nearly a feedback loop, passing the agony back and forth. Even the saplings planted closest to her were crying.
“They share the burden,” Zef whispered, head inclined until their cool breath fanned over Bryce’s ear.
“It is a pain they remember, a pain the others still rooted feel through the system. They feel it together, so the sapling knows she is not alone. To remind her she is strong enough to do what is necessary.”
From the cries of pain grew a hum, something that was probably words, though Bryce would never know for sure. The hum grew to a buzz, then the buzz into a roar. Like a storm.
The girl’s agonized expression shifted to something fierce and determined, and she started to scream again. Not in pain this time, but a war cry. The other Dryads picked up the shift as well, and they were roaring together, shrieking like Valkyrie into the sky.
“Holy shit,” Bryce said, grabbing Zef’s coat sleeve as goosebumps exploded over his skin and the hairs on his arms stood on end. It was terrifying and exhilarating and wondrous.
He didn’t know how much time passed as the Dryads roared their storm, but at long last, with one last guttural cry, the girl’s rooted stumps ripped from the ground, and she stumbled forward on shaky legs, like a newborn foal.
She collapsed into the waiting arms of the Dryads, and Bryce lost sight of her.
She was surrounded, her sisters converging until they were a mass of wooden limbs and leafy branches. They were all crying, swaying back and forth like they were rocking a child. The roaring wind of their voices settling into a calmer breeze, comforting and gentle.
Bryce gasped, blinking through the burn in his eyes. He didn’t know when he’d started crying, but the hot tears cooled quickly on his cheeks, leaving icy trails behind. His chest heaved, each breath cloudy in front of his mouth.
“Are you alright?” Zef asked quietly in his ear, and he nodded.
“Yeah, I…” He sniffed and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. “Yeah, that was just… intense.”
“Yes,” they agreed, voice a little shaken.
“She was so strong.”
“She was.”
“And they were all there for her, so she wasn’t alone.”
“They are never truly alone.”
With another sniffle, Bryce tore his gaze away from the still snuggling Dryads and met Zef’s opaque stare. Their eyes were glossy, but they weren’t crying like he was. Their smile was achingly soft, though, even as they leaned back to add space between their faces.
“That was hard to watch, but it was impossible to look away from,” he said, and Zef’s antennas wriggled. “It was beautiful.”
“I agree.”
Glancing down, Bryce noticed he was gripping Zef’s sleeve in his fist, and he released them instantly. “Crap, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“It is alright,” they said.
“I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I didn’t know I was—”
“Bryce,” they said, tone firmer this time, and he froze as their top left hand came to rest on his arm.
Well, on his bulky coat, but it was still the first time Zef had in any way touched him.
It was a barely-there pressure, but he still gasped at the contact.
“It is alright. I would not lie about this.”
Relief coursed through him, and he offered Zef a wobbly smile. “Thanks.”
Instead of responding with words, they simply inclined their head. Then their hand fell away, taking the light pressure of their touch with it, and he heaved another sigh, exhaling slowly.
“Do we wait for Willow?”
“I believe she will be occupied for a while.” Zef’s hair danced around their angular face as they turned back the way they’d come. “It is best if we see ourselves out.”
“Okay.”
Before he followed after Zef, Bryce watched the Dryads—they were laughing now, smiling through their tears as they celebrated their sister’s victory—and Willow’s head popped up from the masses.
She met his gaze, and he put a hand on his chest over his heart and smiled at her, hoping she understood how much this had meant to him.
She must have, because she beamed back at him, face radiant even through her tears.
He lifted a hand in farewell, and she nodded before she ducked back into the Dryad snuggle pile.
Wiping his face clean, he turned and joined Zef on the cobblestone path.
He wasn’t embarrassed by his tears, mostly because Zef seemed similarly affected, even if they hadn’t cried.
But his cheeks were still warm as he fell into step beside his roommate.
“Thanks,” he said, even if he wasn’t exactly sure what he was thanking Zef for. Like they also didn’t know, they cocked their head, wings buzzing in confusion. “For being here with me.”
They blinked in surprise, facing forward as their wings hummed again, less confusion and more discomfort this time. Bryce had been picking up on the differences in their antenna wiggles and wing buzzes, even if he was still learning how to interpret them fully.
“I am grateful to have shared this with you,” they finally said as the gates rose before them.
Zef stopped several feet from the entrance, antennas flicking in an anxious tell as they angled their head in his direction but didn’t make eye contact as they said, “You have a very gentle soul, Bryce. It is a wonder to behold.”
Flames licked over Bryce’s cheeks and down his neck, then along his spinal column until he shivered. No one had ever said something so wonderful to him before, and he struggled for a response as his eyes burned anew.
“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever told me.”
Their gaze darted briefly to his before they looked away again. “Well, it is true.”
“Thank you, Zef,” Bryce whispered as he gathered some gumption. “You fascinate me.”
Another buzz from their wings, louder than before, and they faced him fully, compound eyes wide. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes. It’s a wonderful thing,” he said, and Zef’s cheeks flushed a darker green, like they were bushing. And it was lovely. They were lovely.
Cautiously, they reached out with one hand and tugged Bryce’s winter hat over the top of his ear to protect it from the chilly breeze. They didn’t make contact with his skin, but he felt the heat of their hand all the same.
“I am glad we are friends,” they said, almost shyly, and another surge of fire spilled through Bryce’s chest.
“Me too, Zef. I like being your friend.”
And yeah, their responding smile was definitely bashful as they turned away, ducking their head. “Thank you.”
Just as carefully as Zef had been, Bryce stretched out a hand and slowly swept their curtain of long hair off their shoulder to settle on their back. He made sure not to touch them, but God, their hair was soft as silk.
Zef watched every move his hand made, but to his utter delight, they didn’t move away. They didn’t even flinch.