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It takes a few short months for a tragedy to become a cautionary tale, a year for a cautionary tale to become a legend, ten for a city to become the destination of a pilgrimage and fifteen for a cherry blossom tree to bare strange fruits. Tales become twisted in time, and the wanderers and vagrants who came to the oasis only knew half of a half of the story that made up the trees roots. The last of the lonely folk - because that was who hoped the most for guidance, revelation to come from a lone tree in the desert - had gone home for the night, though it quickly verged upon morning, when the tree decided that it was tired of its branches being weighed down by more than just flowers and seed, that sorrow had no place in its heart.
Sorrow; because that is the one of the only emotions one can feel when holding two lovers torn in your arms, regret; because trees - even ones borne of magic and love - can only do so much. This tree hadn't been alive for very long. It's roots could feel how deep it's siblings burrowed, even with their distance. But it did know exactly one thing it could do for the lovers, for itself.
The process of transformation was hard, the binding of two, three life forces was harder. Still, slowly, the roots made of women softened, new leaves grew, faster than any of it's own had. The gift of life was an easy one to give, perhaps too easy. Breath now entered her roots, uncomfortably warm, then cold. She had no blood to give but sap. Better then nothing - a phrase taught by the various wanderers who had appeared and gone and appeared again - repeated through her canopy. Lots of things were better than nothing.
Slowly, with aching joints now made of gnarled root, the two women stood. The taller had bushes of green around her crown. The shorter with weaves of cherry blossom. Comprehension was dawning on them, that they were alive and together. It would've been joyous, if the moments that had brought them here hadn't played on repeat in Sloane's head. She looked down at Hurley, at her beautiful halfling who was now made of wood and golden sap.
Hurley looked at her impassively before smiling, "You look good in leaves." Her voice was rougher, coming from vocal chords made of sticks.
Sloane laughed, bitterly but with relief. "So do you- look better in leaves. You shouldn't though, be in leaves I mean. I don't quite understand how this happened." She confessed, talking fast, still trying to understand.
"Neither do I." Hurley shrugged. "I don't think we need to. Sometimes you just wake up a plant woman." She pulled a strand of cherry blossoms taut, observing herself. "Could be a lot worse."
"Hurley," Sloane started, then faltered and started again, "Hurley, I am so sorry." She winced - she lacked the muscles to wince but did so anyhow. No words could make up what happened to her, what she had done to her.
Hurley nodded, but didn't seem too interested in apologies. What's done was done and now they were both tree-women. "What now?"
Sloane thought of possibilities, turning from regret sharply. "Well, we could always go get a wagon. I don't think we'll be able to stay here long. Not in the desert, not like this. Do you still have that one wagon with the duck patterned roof?"
"I guess we'll find out." Hurley started to walk away, go into the city but Sloane's voice stopped her.
"Hurley?"
"Mm hm?"
"I love you. I didn't say it enough before, but I love you." Sloane said, softly.
"I know you do." Hurley led her back through the streets that were once so familiar, now changed by the passage of time. They would find their own way now - not cop and thief, but two beautiful dryads, united in love.
When the fallen worshipers would return, the loss of the two woman shaped roots would be treated as a miracle, a sign, a second tragedy to befall the lovers. The lovers only took it as a second chance.