Chapter Text
The human speeds towards your grove, a number of buckets in hand. The figure moves diligently towards the reaches of the flames setting counter fires and tossing something from the buckets to stifle it.
You move to help, to summon more water, more dirt. Forgetting the poisonous air, you inhale only smoke and ash-- your new human throat burning and choking. You cannot help but remember that these are the ashes of your comapanions. Your companions who you didn't protect. Who you let die in fire and smoke. It's only fair that you--
This thought is cut off by the sudden presence of the human at your side. Your coughs must have drawn its attention and verdant eyes meet yours.
Wait, is this...? You almost don't recognize it without the wolf pup at its heels. This is the human who helped the injured rabbits last spring. Who brought them food when their mother disappeared. Who gave them what they needed to grow. The steady movements of its hands and the gentleness with which it approaches you is unmistakable. This is the Protector of the forest.
Without hesitation, it picks you up and rushes you out to the clearing, far from the flames. Once it returns to the grove to continue its work, you crawl to the edge of the clearing. Soft hands land on sturdy bark.
As the counter fires take effect and begin to eat other, you whisper thanks and comfort to your trees. You push what's left of your energy through the roots, reminding everyone that this will be over soon. You sing to them a lullaby-- low and cloying. You feel the cries of your breathren peter out. The fire dies and your song fades away. When you finally look up, the human is before you, an expression of utter bewilderment on its face.
It had no trepidation when addressing the carnage in your grove. But now for some reason, its mouth opens and closes soundlessly. You stand, stretching your new form to its full height. And you are surprised that the human is still significantly taller than you. Are all humans this large?
It still hasn't spoken or moved. You reach a tentative arm towards its own, squeezing gently, letting gratefulness flow into it. It tenses at the sudden contact but doesn't pull away. Are all humans this warm? Even after all the pain and loss, the heat of a human body feels so welcoming.
"Thank you. You saved many of us. We are grateful."
" 'welcome" it lets out, and shuffles off your hand. Oh you don't know human customs, you're hoping you haven't offended it when it says, "Are you hurt?"
You look to see your feet are blistering and red. That's not ideal. Now this form is wounded, too. Your feet ache like the deep frosts of winter and the sting of summer nettles all at once. You are lost in a frantic haze thick with shame, sorrow, and pain. As you continue to lay, the human tries a different question, "Can you walk?"
You attempt to stand, but as soon as you shift weight, you find yourself on the ground again. The haziness of your surroundings increases rapidly now. Although it's been an aeon since you had feet of your own, you know that this is not supposed to happen. Two large limbs come in and scoop you up. In this state, you think they feel rather like branches-- sturdy. welcoming. Your face is so warm nestled into its chest and there's a thrumming inside. It sounds so very much like the beating core of the forest, you miss what the creature says.
"My apologies, did you speak?"
"Is this okay?" You nod in response. How strange. The human's face seem to have changed to a darker color. Your slipping mind idly wonders if your human form can change color as well.
"Yes, thank you." It nods and moves the two of you away from the forest. Your forest. So much of it is gone. You should have protected them. And here you are, leaving them alone to mourn. You know you cannot help anything till your tree has healed and you can once again step into it. Still, a dozen thoughts ring through you
you should have
you could have
why didn't you
With each thought, your body feels weaker. You hardly even notice when the human opens a door to its hut. And you are unconscious by the time they lay you on a pile of furs. Your mind fills with memories of smoke, of sparking sap, of the groans of the dying.
your fault
your fault
your fault