Passersby ➵ ONC 2021

➵ write the roses

The kudu go down to the river once more, sitting at the very edge and gazing up at the moon. Legolas looks up at it too, watching for any signs of life; any reason to study it so closely if you are an animal of peace and hooves and forests. Elu crouches next to him, both of them hiding in the long grasses and looking over the animals.

"They are waiting for the moon to be full," Legolas speaks gently, like it is a secret.

Elu tips his head. "How might you know this?"

"Im ista ten," Legolas whispers. "I feel it, and the trees have told me."

Elu looks over at the forest, getting a glance at the tall, thin trees parting to reveal the kudu and the river and the raised clearing they crouch on. "Are the trees speaking now?"

"Of course," Legolas replies in a soothed excitement, his eyes holding onto the foliage as well. "They are never quiet."

Elu nods, wishing he could hear this. "And of what do they speak?"

Legolas only holds up a hand, staring at the tall branches and their perfect leaves. "Quiet," he instructs. "Listen."

They stop speaking now, and all that is said to Elu's pointed ears is the song of the wind. He hears only rustling from the plants around him while Legolas hears words. Elu almost envies the knowledge the foreign woodland elf has of treesong, although his fascination and amazement overpower this all.

"They say a great presence lies here in this air; in this sky," Legolas murmurs against the soft night breeze. "When the moon is round and white, the animals will meet it and cherish its being." He pauses to listen, preparing to translate the words of the trees. "They say the grasses are fruitful and the soil wishes for rain. It will rain soon. Tomorrow or the night following, they will receive their wishes."

Elu smiles in admiration for this talent of treespeak. "You understand them well," he compliments, though Legolas does not see this as flattery as he sees the reasoning behind it.

"I am kind to them," he explains, "so they tell me things more clearly."

Elu furrows a brow at this. "I have never been unkind to a plant other than to take its life, and even then I thank it for its gifts," he says. "And yet I have never heard them speak a word."

Legolas smiles and rests a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Ach ceri cin vedui?" he asks. "But have you listened?"

"I... suppose I have not," Elu decides, "or I do not know how."

Legolas takes this into consideration, looking ahead at the trees in concentration. "They are speaking poems now," he whispers. "You must try to hear them if you wish to."

Elu focuses on the forest, watching it move in the wind and paying attention to every small movement. He does not look away or distract himself from its presence, and from deep in its soil he slowly hears music; echoing, ambient, deep and light, and they speak words over the song that he has never stopped to hear before:

"Sketch the stones and write the roses
Let them fall with wisdom down
Deep to gardens as life closes
Turned to ash and sifted sound.

"When they die, be seldom mournsome
Let the scattered petals dry
Sketch the stones and write the roses,
Put to rest thine butterfly.

"Rain will come and tides will season
In through sand and out through song
Paint the sand, let sorrows even,
Listen, listen, love is long."

Legolas smiles at them as they finish their poems and move on to wishing for rain once more, and reporting on the weather. "Can you hear it?"

Elu must smile as well. "I perceive their music. I believe I can," he answers. "Naw maer. It is good. It is lovely."

"Oh— well then you must tell them this," Legolas urges. "Trees appreciate when their beauty is noticed. The forest would be grateful if only to hear it."

Elu looks lost. "How do I do this?"

"Close your eyes," Legolas replies as if it is the most simple solution in the world, "and send it out to them."

He demonstrates, his eyes closing softly as he takes in a deep breath, sending thoughts out to them with the clarity of the ever-filling moon itself. Elu follows his every move as he helps to thank the trees, and as the leaves all rustle again, he takes solace in the feeling that they have heard.

➵