Chapter 6 #2
I was skeptical about this idea, even after Gillia assured me it was safe.
As a ranger and nature enthusiast, it’s been drilled into me that natural springs aren’t the places you want to be.
They are unpredictable, like everything in the wilderness, with temperature fluctuations coming on quickly and without warning.
There are a few grisly case studies in my training that drilled that point home in excruciating detail.
Luckily, I’ve never happened upon any such hikers, but I know people who have.
I can’t help but moan a little as I arrange myself so I can rest my knees on the bottom of the spring. “This is incredible,” I say. “I didn’t know this existed.”
The stream is marked on the forest service maps. But no one’s ever mentioned a hot spring. It’s the kind of thing someone would have marked on a map if they happened upon it or heard about it from fellow hikers.
“The forest keeps secrets,” she says, as though that explains everything. Maybe it does. The more time I spend with Gillia, the more I realize some things can’t be explained—and maybe I don’t need an explanation. It’s enough to know they’re real. A little more information wouldn’t hurt, though.
I shift around, making sure every inch of my body is submerged under the surface at some point.
After a few days without a shower—especially with the added physical activity—I’ve been in desperate need of a little soap and water.
Soap might not be happening, but I still feel cleaner than I’ve ever been.
And much better about letting someone touch or even lick my body.
I shiver at the thought of her teasing her tongue over my most sensitive parts.
From the glimpse I got, it looks mostly human, but I can’t wait to find out how it feels.
“Are you cold?” she asks.
“Oh, no. Just thinking and enjoying.” I get the words out before I realize she might follow up, ask me exactly what I’m thinking.
I’m not sure I’m ready to answer that question.
Especially when I’m acutely aware that we’re not entirely alone.
Just because I can’t hear the ongoing discussion doesn’t mean I’m not aware of it.
Somehow, I can feel something inside me shift every time a tree speaks up.
I’d think I was imagining things, but there’s usually a corresponding shift on Gillia’s face, something that tells me she hears it too.
Except she gets the words; I’m left to imagine all the things they’re saying about me. Talk about anxiety-inducing.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she says, as I breathe a sigh of relief. “This is one of the great hidden gems in the forest—the perfect place to relax and recover.”
“Tell me more,” I say.
“About what?” she asks.
“Everything.”
She gives me a skeptical look. But it’s true—I want to know everything and anything she’s willing to tell me about herself, the forest, and nature. I’ve spent a lifetime studying every reference book I could find, but it’s left me woefully unprepared to enter this version of reality.
“Please,” I beg. I’m desperate to understand better of the world I’ve stepped into.
It’s selfish, but for the first time in my life, my soul is settled.
My place in this world seems secure and important.
Not because I serve some role in the workplace, but because I’m part of something bigger than myself.
Or maybe it’s because of the way Gillia looks at me, like I’m some prized treasure she’s discovered.
“Well,” she starts, “the forest is ancient. It’s been this way for over four thousand years.”
“Have you always been here?” I ask.
“Not me personally,” she says. “Others have. It’s rare to survive that long. I’ve inhabited my tree for almost two hundred years now.”
My jaw drops a little. I didn’t even think about how old Gillia might be. Going by looks alone, I would have guessed she was in her thirties, like me. Not that I have many dryad references to compare her to. “Wow.”
“It’s been a wonderful experience being here, in this section of the wilderness, learning to understand all the creatures.”
“And are you the only…dryad?” I still have trouble letting myself say the word aloud.
“In the forest? No. There are many, but we are independent and stick to our own territory. Of course, we communicate with each other, share knowledge and threats, but we don’t socialize. We can’t stray more than a mile or two from our bound trees, so we rarely see each other.”
“That must be lonely.” I can’t help but think about her alone in her tree, walking through the forest. She has the rest of the forest creatures, but it’s not the same.
A tug in my chest reminds me I’ll be leaving her soon.
At some point, she’ll expect me to leave and go back to my everyday life.
The thought makes me nauseous, something deep inside me pushing back at the thought.
“Not lonely,” she says slowly. “I have all the plants and animals here, and they talk to me, and I talk to them.”
Gillia pauses, as though she’s trying to find the right words. “It is not the same as this.” She gestures between the two of us.
I swallow hard, knowing exactly what she means. This bond, whatever it is, is special. Something I already know I’ll never be able to replicate. Leaving her is going to destroy me in ways I can’t begin to describe.
My life is so different from hers in many ways, but also so similar.
I live alone in a small cabin for much of the year, and of course, I have people to talk to, check-ins, and a computer and a phone that work—but it’s not the same.
It’s not the same as having a connection with someone—a deep connection.
It’s something I didn’t know that I needed or even wanted until I met Gillia.
Now, after only a few days, I can’t imagine ever going back.
I nod my understanding, but it doesn’t seem like enough. Instead, I move closer, letting the water propel me into her arms.
I chuckle when I land on her lap, straddling her thighs, our bodies pressed together.
I can’t resist taking the opportunity to kiss her.
I intend for it to be gentle—a heartfelt moment to let her know the feeling is mutual.
The loneliness. The way our souls connect.
I can’t describe any of it, at least not in words.
That’s what I intended to try to say with a chaste kiss, but almost immediately, she devours me.
It’s all I can do to keep up with the frenzied pace of her lips against mine.
Our tongues tangle together, a constant dance to be as close as possible. I can’t help the way my body presses against hers, needing to sense our connection across every inch of my being.
As quickly as this fervor came on, she pulls away, leaving me gasping for air. “Not here,” she says before dropping her voice. “Too many eyes.”
Now that I’m thinking about it, that strange sensation I sometimes get when I’m in the wilderness comes over me.
A feeling I’m being watched by someone, even if I can’t place it.
Having all those little niggling feelings confirmed is both affirming and a little creepy.
Especially with us in such a compromising position.
I’m anxious for the forest to accept me, not as one of their own, but as someone they could get used to.
The last thing I need is for them to see me grinding against their dryad.
“If you’re ready, we could head back.”
“I’m ready,” I confirm. As Gillia steps out of the spring, water running off her gorgeous body, I remember I need to get dressed again.
While the forest watches.
I swallow hard against the knot forming in my throat. Well then, no time like the present.