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No mortal knows where the forest started or where it would end; only that as it grew, becoming a lush and vital sanctuary for the beasts and the lost, he also was born.
Many stories were told about the God of the Forest. The popular ones spoke of him as a shy, wise deity who opened his home for those who needed shelter, though rarely does anyone ever wish to leave. Other stories described him as protective of those who live there, that anyone who wishes to cause harm end up gored on his antlers or strung up outside the woods to be made an example of. Then there’ the few that whisper he is not a god but a trickster who lured unsuspecting mortals into his wood to be either imprisoned or kept as slaves.
It was a subject of debate amongst them, yet the majority all agreed that the stories couldn’t be true; if there’s a god in the woods then wouldn’t there be more worshippers? Priests trying to lure them in? Or even the god himself to bring them into his realm?
They took comfort in the idea and thus the stories became warnings for the young bloods to keep out of the woods and stay safe.
Madara had lived in this forest for a long time. So long he had lost track of the years that had passed as all he occupied his days with was hunting, foraging and then providing tribute to the one who allowed him refuge here.
He can remember the day he found the altar; an old tree with a hollowed out trunk yet somehow was still alive with its roots thriving. Within it was a small figure made from stone that had small daisies and some mushrooms around it. Animals tended to spend their time around it as well from small, nervous rabbits to large, intimidating bears.
Quietly he approached; after a long day of hunting pheasant and rabbits; all cleaned, skinned and cooked as he had them placed in a wooden bowl to rest at the little statue’s feet where he now sits and waits quietly for the god’s arrival. Whenever he was there it filled him with a sense of excitement; especially with the summer solstice approaching.
As far as he knows he was the only mortal here. The only one allowed to be here since he was always putting food and other offerings and then waiting for the god to appear. It made him smile as he dug his bare feet in the soil as the birds whistled overhead.
He perked when he heard a crack from the trees and then he straightened up; wearing the old yukata that he only ever took off to wash and bathe quietly in the spring of the forest, his hand made bow and arrow resting against his shoulder.
Slowly, a humanoid figure stepped forwards; his hair was the color of light soil, eyes the same shade as the bark of a maple and his skin tanned from the sun’s rays as he stepped forwards through the brush. Upon his head sat a rack of impressive antlers, with sharp little points and his ears that of a buck’s. Markings were on his face; around his eyes and on his cheeks as he stepped down towards his favored high priest.
Some would see him and just fall to their knees to bask or to plead for mercy. Others would try to run or scream for help while heading in the direction.
Then there are those like Madara; who smiled at the sight of him and gave a polite nod of his head at him, eyes half lidded and his long wild hair as black as raven feathers flickers in the soft breeze.
For him, the god was nothing more than a kind and gentle entity who only wished to live in peace. To build a world where all could live in harmony, yet he was still a force to be reckoned with when danger attempts to infiltrate this sacred place.
“Good evening, Madara,” He said with such a gentleness in his gaze, eyes half lidded as he gently walked down towards him. Where feet would be, instead there were the hooves of a reindeer that leave tracks in the dirt.
Madara closed his eyes as a hand very gently cupped his pale cheek, leaning into it, “Good evening, my lord of the woods.”
“Now, now I’ve told you already, my dear crow, please call me by my name,” he leaned forward slowly while cupping his face in both hands. Claw tipped thumbs gently trace the lines under those eyes as dark and pure as polished obsidian that looked at the god with adoration.
A soft chuckle left him at the god’s request, “I’m still not used to having such a privilege, my lor–” he catches himself when the god pouts at him, “...Hashirama.”
“You know you do not need to use formalities…it’s only you and I in the forest, Madara,” he smiled at him with half lidded eyes; they shimmer like the light that hits moving water as he picked up some of the food from the offering, “You are my only human companion and the high priest…”
“It’s still hard. You are the one who has thrived and grew in this forest…you…you are the one who helps it continue on, you protect everyone here…” he looked down, “I want to make sure I am respectful–”
He blushes when the god presses his forehead against his, with half lidded warm eyes that make the man’s heart flutter. It wasn’t fair…it just wasn’t fair how much the divine being was so gentle with him. He should be showing him proper worship, to feed his divinity with sworn loyalty and to show it with his continued offerings.
Yet Hashirama only cared about being close to him, spending time with him, laughing, eating and showing him all the kindness he was denied.
Sometimes it felt like the god worshipped him instead of the other way around.