Fig

5. No Water

Fig stared up through the small skylight above her bed, watching the light orbs as they descended slowly from the sky to hover through the air. They made their way down to glide along the surface of the atmosphere, skimming the tops of trees, but never close enough to touch the earth. Through the night, they'd ascend into the outer limits where they'd merely peek down, teasing us with their light, but lacking the courtesy to actually warm the planet.

As Fig lay curled beneath the blankets of her root-woven bed waiting for the world to warm, she watched the jungle come to life. The Mountain of Zohrul was filled with a large variety of creatures, most of which lived in small holes below the trees. Trees were the safest place for underground homes. Seeing as how they only grew in areas that lacked lava tunnels, it was guaranteed to be safe for living.

Fig had very few human companions, and most were much older, but she tried not to let the loneliness eat at her. This was her home. This was all she'd ever known. And though she loved the mysteries hidden within the vast trees, she often found herself bored, aware that there was much more to the world than she'd ever had the opportunity to see.

Tossing her walzu-skinned blankets aside, Fig grabbed onto one of the tree limbs that made up her bedpost and swung her legs over the side, landing with a thud. Dragging her feet, she squeezed her way out of the small doorway that lead into the dining room and headed straight for the narrow kitchen that was dug into the side of the room. Irritating roots hung down in Fig's way and she grumpily flung them aside. She was always having to chop them or nail them to the dirt walls, but they never stayed.

Grabbing a wood-carved cup from the cupboard, Fig filled it with lemongrass before turning the faucet handle and allowing the steaming water to flow out. As she waited for the tea to steep, she darted into the shower room. Because lava tunnels tended to cross paths with the underground rivers, the rivers would easily absorb the scorching heat, making showers and dish washing a long, annoying process. Waiting for water to cool was about as exciting as watching a slug sleep.

In the shower room, Fig unleashed the boiling water into a large basin that stood a foot taller than her five-foot-five stature. While the water cooled, Fig returned to her tea. She dropped down into the plush leather seating in her living room where she leaned back to gaze out of the large skylight above her.

She could see small sprouts beginning to burst up from the ground around the seam of the window. It was a refreshing contrast to the decay of yesterday's garden that now lay wilted and partly obscuring Fig's view. As the orbs above dried out the damp rot, the brown vegetation would begin to harden, becoming brittle.

She sighed just thinking about the tasks ahead of her. She knew she needed to hurry and get to work before the lights dried up too much of the dead garden. If they baked in the heat too long, they would become too delicate, and much more difficult to work with.

Downing the last of her tea, Fig dragged the thick, woven clumps of her hair back into a messy ponytail. Not bothering to clean up, she wound her way up the steep staircase that was carved into the very center of the tree's trunk and exited out the narrow door above ground.

The air was still cool, clashing comfortably with the sticky warmth of Fig's dark skin. She breathed in before slipping on a pair of gloves she'd plucked from a nail that had been thrust into the side of the tree. Licking her lips, she began whistling off tune as she knelt down in the soil and began pulling the dead weeds and vegetation from the ground.

Fig was always the first one up. Though the three shared a house, Leb and Sowa slept in for obvious reasons: without hands they were pretty useless with the weeding.

Fig watched as the small sprouts she'd spied from her window earlier began to increase in size. It was slow at first, but as the orbs settled into their positions just above the trees, the air warmed and life blossomed with rapid speed. Almost instantly, smoke began to tint the air as the leaves unlucky enough to bloom on the tallest of trees were consumed with flames, the scorching heat of the orbs too much for them to survive. One by one they all shriveled into crisp flakes, dusting the earth with their powdery remnants. The charred leaves now released their scent to drift through the day, tainting the fresh air with the essence of their deaths.