Work Text:
Before a witch carved a palisman out, the palistrom wood it came from wasn’t alive but that didn’t mean it wasn’t aware. Of course not. It had been a living tree before, had it not? And a sapling before that, and even earlier a seed.
It had memory. Everything in the Boiling Isles was connected by the steady thrum of magic in the air, in the water, the soil. And thus, it remembered being a seed; small, round and smooth and so, so full of possibility.
It remembered being a small twig, twisting and bending under the inclemency of weather and nevertheless withstanding.
It remembered growing tall and proud under the boiling rain and howling winds, and then, change, the careful hands of witches pruning it and tending to it until it had become a handsome tree whose branches longed for the openness of the forest.
Then came the knife, and while the tree couldn’t feel pain like witches it knew it was now missing a limb, sap dripping into the soil like blood.
All the branch knew was the dark now, being severed from the soil and the sun and even air, kept in a small box, feeling the magic of witches around it. Then came the knife again but it was kinder this time. It came with two sets of oh so gentle hands, and so much love. The smaller hands chipped away at it carefully, and as the wood took shape it began to feel, no longer just the magic around itself but making out sounds, there were voices rising and falling in hushed, familiar tones. Then there was only one pair of hands, cradling it with so much love and so much warmth.
They felt themself waking up to the world, they were themself, they were aware and so alive, and this was their witch talking to them. They were to be her palisman, a friend and a companion, part of her family, like her Eda and King, she said, Owlbert and Hooty and Lilith and all of her friends. Idly, they reached out. In the swirl of magic in the room they could feel the bonds of the family she spoke of, stretching and twisting around. The bold red of the one she called Eda, her mother in magic if not in blood and the dark grey of her curse, the pure shimmering gold of Titan magic leading to a pup, the lines stretching far away, another thread of grey, fainter this time, not quite as familiar or familial and so much more all tangled up like a spiderweb. Would she make them a spider, they wondered? Or perhaps a bat? Would they be an otter? A giraffe? Would they have fins or wings or paws?
Luz carved them with a single-minded determination. And then they knew. She was making them and yet not. She was giving them a chance so rare and precious if they could cry, they would. And if they could laugh, they would be laughing right now. They had survived and even thrived for decades, sprouted, grown and been felled and here they were, a seed once again. An infinity of possibilities contained within a fragile shell. Luz held them out to Eda for her to finish, her hands steady and practiced as she varnished them with great care. They could be an owl, like the one cuddled up to them to keep them company, an eagle, a blue jay or a hummingbird. A cat or a hare. Whatever they chose, they didn’t need to hatch to know two things, they wanted to make Luz happy and that with her as their witch they were in for quite an adventure. Slowly, they considered their witch; she loved to fly so they would need wings, and talons to protect her, to catch her if she fell, a beak, to peck for her attention or to scruff her misbehaving brother, they’d have to be fluffy and soft for comfort like she gave to all of her friends. Most importantly, they’d need to be bold.
Snug inside their egg, they began to dream.
