We're No Heroes

Chapter Zero - Hush, Child

Once upon a time, before this land was corrupted and its magic stolen for evil purposes, there lived Nature, in all her untarnished glory.

Nature, of course, was beautiful beyond compare. Birds sang joyfully from their nests, breasts puffed to show their brilliant colors. Deer nibbled on tree bark and pranced from clearing to clearing. Stalks rose from almost nothing and grew till they dwarfed the lions and tigers that crouched low beside them. But what Nature was most proud of, child, were her trees. They grew with great branches that stretched as fingers to grasp the clouds, to greet the stars, to meet the moon and the sun. In the spring, they were naught but sprouts, tiny little things that looked as if they wouldn't survive the first frost.

What?

The deer? I told you, they tore bark off of trees-- of course, child! Trees had grown already! Now hush, and let me tell my story!

Those little sprouts, unpromising as they might seem, grew like they were being stretched by Nature herself. The first frost came late in the fall, but the shoots had already turned from green to a perfect chestnut brown. Winter laid a thick blanket of white over everything, but those saplings shot from the snow and grew taller by the day.

Spring brought about a lovely change-- yes, it was beautiful! Emeralds grew from the branches of the trees, and they split into branches that reached for the skies. You're blessed enough to see it yourself, child, just look outside.

For so long, Nature was complacent. She loved her children, every one of them. She was a firm mother; everything had a place and a purpose. The strong survived and defended the weak. Even the smallest insect fed a small fish, which fed a bigger fish, feeding a deer, which fed a family of wolves. Not a single being was unneeded, and Nature loved how it was.

But for all her beauty, there was nobody to enjoy it. Nature needed something-- nay, someone to enjoy her; someone to revel in her beauty. And so, she created the nymphs.

Her nymphs had beauty to equal hers. Nature had first dryads, nymphs borne of trees. Their lifelines were their respective trees, and each dryad grew and felt as their tree did. Understand, child, that these women looked as their tree did. Of course they had mostly human traits, but their heads boasted brilliant reds and yellows and oranges, as trees in autumn had. Their shoulders bore smooth bark that stretched down to just below their chests, beginning again solidly at their hips and reaching their knees. Patches of bark were scattered across their faces, their necks, their legs and bellies and hands. Pointed ears peeked from their hair, and horns curled from their foreheads.

Why am I-- child, if you don't stop asking such ridiculous questions, I'll bury you to your neck and have you dig yourself out with a spoon in your mouth.

"Why are you describing nymphs like fairytale creatures", love-- I swear you'll be the death of me.

I'm too tired to continue. Go outside and imagine you met a rag that could talk. That's compelling enough, isn't it? More so than my boring old story.

Go, love, I'll have a treat for you when you return.