“Thanks for helping, Haakon. It’s been a long time since I’ve even thought about anything like this.”
The goliath nodded, and stepped back from the fire-pit he had built, small and contained by rocks so as not to threaten the orchard. Not that the snowy landscape was in much danger of catching, but still. No sense in risking it.
“The druids of my forest would use these communions in the months leading up to winter, to lengthen the foraging season. Nobody wanted to be stuck eating lichen until the spring.” Tulgey sighed, and looked around at the bare trees. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good here, when winter is already set deep. But these people are suffering, we have to try something.”
Tulgey shuffled through a bundle of faded scrolls, on an odd sort of parchment that the gnomes of Tumtum Tree made from riverbank reeds. The notes, scrawled in a mix of gnomish script and druidic symbols were messy and disorganised, barely legible in places. Tulgey was never much of a student under Elderdruid Callooh. That was more Brillig’s forte. Half of these were probably cribbed from her anyway. He’d rather be off catching tadpoles in the shallows, or working on his secret den in the cave behind the waterfall. She always scolded him when he asked to borrow her notes, but she always let him. Of course she let him. He was her big brother. And they were best friends, once.
He flipped over another sheet and froze. The small, neat hand, the thorough descriptions of the ritual. He must have forgotten to give this one back. He ran his fingertips over the symbols, tracing the organic curls that made up the secret and ancient druidic language. He never could get the vine-like shapes to look as nice as hers.
“Tulgey.”
Tulgey gave a start. “Huh?”
“I said, do you need anything else?”
“Sorry, I was... No. Thanks, Haakon. Just, uh, keep the fire fed. We might be here a while.” He took up position at the foot of the large pear tree nearest the fire. Cross-legged on the frozen soil, he pulled the fur blankets around his small form. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying? It’s a long time to be out in the cold.”
“At least the sun’s been up. I come out to meditate most every dawn.” The towering man lowered himself to a similar pose next to the tiny gnome, expanses of grey skin bare to the crisp air. “My people don’t suffer the cold the same way yours do.”
Tulgey nodded. “Guess I’ll get started then.” He laid his gnarled, yew branch staff across his knees, pulled the furs closer and closed his eyes. Inaudibly, he whispered the ancient words, lightly tracing the shapes with his fingertips along the bark of the staff.
In time, he was able to reach out, down through the hard earth. He felt the tree’s roots, splayed beneath. The life in them was dim, turned inward, to the wood’s core. That was normal, that’s how trees slumbered the winter months. But there was something different. A restlessness. Like the sensation of sleeping too long and late, tossing and turning, to the point when sleep is no longer restful anymore.
I know, Old Man, he told the tree. We’re all hoping for Spring. Just hang in there, won’t you? Here. This should help.
Then he reached out again, touching the next set of roots. And when that was done, the next. One by one, infusing a little of the Old magic into each tree. Then beyond, into the fields. The turnips and parsnips. The pea vines and beanstalks. The leeks and the cabbages. Slowly, one by one, every tree, every bush, every sprout. Further and further, outward from the centre in a great, widening spiral, like the whorls of ink on Brillig’s notes.
It was dark when he returned. At his spot by by the fire pit, Haakon was hunched over something, a large dagger in hand. He looked up from his work as Tulgey gasped and exhaled a fog of white breath in the night air.
“There you are,” said the goliath. He brushed wood chips from his lap as he rose. “I was beginning to worry. Did you finish it?”
“As best I could. We’ll see, I s-suppose.” Tulgey’s teeth began to chatter as his body’s senses took hold again. “H-how long was I gone?”
“The entire day. We were almost out of firewood. Come. We should get you inside.” He extended one huge hand, and Tulgey took it gratefully. He stumbled as he arose, his legs weak, chilled to the bone from his seat on the cold ground.
“I have you, small friend,” Haakon sighed, bundling the fur blankets around the gnome, and lifting him up and onto his broad shoulder. He took the the log he had carved, and nestled it upright among the roots of the old pear tree. It was a totem, about the length of his forearm, roughly cut, but clearly the stylized shape of a bear. Then he drowned the embers with a pail set by the fire, turned, and strode back towards the town.
The farmland didn't look different as he passed by. The druid’s magic hadn't brought greenery bursting from the earth, as Haakon had seen it do before. But he sensed it. The traditions of his tribe attuned him to the energies of nature, and nature's energy flowed more strongly than before. Strong enough? Haakon couldn't say.
They retired to the Stonehill Inn, where there were friends, a warm hearth, and, while the dwindling stores lasted, a hot meal. They would see.
The goliath nodded, and stepped back from the fire-pit he had built, small and contained by rocks so as not to threaten the orchard. Not that the snowy landscape was in much danger of catching, but still. No sense in risking it.
“The druids of my forest would use these communions in the months leading up to winter, to lengthen the foraging season. Nobody wanted to be stuck eating lichen until the spring.” Tulgey sighed, and looked around at the bare trees. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good here, when winter is already set deep. But these people are suffering, we have to try something.”
Tulgey shuffled through a bundle of faded scrolls, on an odd sort of parchment that the gnomes of Tumtum Tree made from riverbank reeds. The notes, scrawled in a mix of gnomish script and druidic symbols were messy and disorganised, barely legible in places. Tulgey was never much of a student under Elderdruid Callooh. That was more Brillig’s forte. Half of these were probably cribbed from her anyway. He’d rather be off catching tadpoles in the shallows, or working on his secret den in the cave behind the waterfall. She always scolded him when he asked to borrow her notes, but she always let him. Of course she let him. He was her big brother. And they were best friends, once.
He flipped over another sheet and froze. The small, neat hand, the thorough descriptions of the ritual. He must have forgotten to give this one back. He ran his fingertips over the symbols, tracing the organic curls that made up the secret and ancient druidic language. He never could get the vine-like shapes to look as nice as hers.
“Tulgey.”
Tulgey gave a start. “Huh?”
“I said, do you need anything else?”
“Sorry, I was... No. Thanks, Haakon. Just, uh, keep the fire fed. We might be here a while.” He took up position at the foot of the large pear tree nearest the fire. Cross-legged on the frozen soil, he pulled the fur blankets around his small form. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying? It’s a long time to be out in the cold.”
“At least the sun’s been up. I come out to meditate most every dawn.” The towering man lowered himself to a similar pose next to the tiny gnome, expanses of grey skin bare to the crisp air. “My people don’t suffer the cold the same way yours do.”
Tulgey nodded. “Guess I’ll get started then.” He laid his gnarled, yew branch staff across his knees, pulled the furs closer and closed his eyes. Inaudibly, he whispered the ancient words, lightly tracing the shapes with his fingertips along the bark of the staff.
In time, he was able to reach out, down through the hard earth. He felt the tree’s roots, splayed beneath. The life in them was dim, turned inward, to the wood’s core. That was normal, that’s how trees slumbered the winter months. But there was something different. A restlessness. Like the sensation of sleeping too long and late, tossing and turning, to the point when sleep is no longer restful anymore.
I know, Old Man, he told the tree. We’re all hoping for Spring. Just hang in there, won’t you? Here. This should help.
Then he reached out again, touching the next set of roots. And when that was done, the next. One by one, infusing a little of the Old magic into each tree. Then beyond, into the fields. The turnips and parsnips. The pea vines and beanstalks. The leeks and the cabbages. Slowly, one by one, every tree, every bush, every sprout. Further and further, outward from the centre in a great, widening spiral, like the whorls of ink on Brillig’s notes.
It was dark when he returned. At his spot by by the fire pit, Haakon was hunched over something, a large dagger in hand. He looked up from his work as Tulgey gasped and exhaled a fog of white breath in the night air.
“There you are,” said the goliath. He brushed wood chips from his lap as he rose. “I was beginning to worry. Did you finish it?”
“As best I could. We’ll see, I s-suppose.” Tulgey’s teeth began to chatter as his body’s senses took hold again. “H-how long was I gone?”
“The entire day. We were almost out of firewood. Come. We should get you inside.” He extended one huge hand, and Tulgey took it gratefully. He stumbled as he arose, his legs weak, chilled to the bone from his seat on the cold ground.
“I have you, small friend,” Haakon sighed, bundling the fur blankets around the gnome, and lifting him up and onto his broad shoulder. He took the the log he had carved, and nestled it upright among the roots of the old pear tree. It was a totem, about the length of his forearm, roughly cut, but clearly the stylized shape of a bear. Then he drowned the embers with a pail set by the fire, turned, and strode back towards the town.
The farmland didn't look different as he passed by. The druid’s magic hadn't brought greenery bursting from the earth, as Haakon had seen it do before. But he sensed it. The traditions of his tribe attuned him to the energies of nature, and nature's energy flowed more strongly than before. Strong enough? Haakon couldn't say.
They retired to the Stonehill Inn, where there were friends, a warm hearth, and, while the dwindling stores lasted, a hot meal. They would see.
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