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The days were getting shorter, Bdubs reminded him himself, but he couldn’t help but take a post dinner stroll through the nearby woods, reasoning that it was to gain inspiration for his new project. He was awestruck at the intricacies of every little detail the world had generated. He dug around in his messenger bag until he found his sketchbook. Drawing was a great way to exercise your eye to detail, Bdubs preached. “It's impossible to fully replicate and represent the world as it is. It's far too intricate, so you must choose to build only what is most spectacular, memorable, breathtaking to you, Dear Scientists.” This was a line he liked to recite when hermits asked him for terraforming advice, practiced many times in the mirror before debuting to an audience.
He sketched the brook bordering the forest, noting down that the liverwort would congregate where the water met the bank. His foot slipped on the algae covered rock, which sent him tumbling into the river. A nearby rabbit was spooked when it heard “Blast!” ringing through the woods.
It’s fine. He managed to keep his sketchbook completely dry, holding it high with outstretched arms, and continued on his way unperturbed. He looked up at the aspen trees and captured their determination to breach the clouds. He crouched down and sketched the mushrooms growing on an uprooted tree, noticing evidence of a rodent's dinner. And of course, he sketched his favourite, the carpet of fern moss gently draped over a tree stump, carefully shading in the burrow an animal had made below it. He furrowed his eyebrows, forgot about his wet socks, and walked up close, backed up, then walked close again.
It was a grand thing, nature’s finest sculpture, and Bdubs was utterly drawn to it whenever he was in its presence . His breath would hitch, and he could do nothing but stare. The tree that once was, he imagined, must have been thousands of years old, maybe an ancient great spruce? Bdubs tried to picture this tree, towering above all else, a beacon before beacons. One day that tree had selflessly fallen, becoming the home and lifeforce of the moss. Perhaps some of the tree lives on in the moss, Bdubs liked to think. He yawned. Maybe next time he would sketch it. Time was a curious thing… Bdubs pulled out his ornate pocket watch and gasped. When had so much time passed him by? It was already his bedtime! This wasn’t good, he was deep in the forest, becoming more drowsy by the second.
Suddenly, he remembered his promise to help Etho prune his rose garden the next morning. Bdubs needed to sleep, fast. He walked towards the hollow under the great stump, entranced. Drowsiness settled over his body, washing all logic from his mind. “Just a quick slumber for tonight, so I don’t miss tomorrow's activity.” It was a rare occasion for Etho to wake so early, at this rate Bdubs would wake later than him!
Bdubs crawled through the entrance of the hollow in a daze. He curled up in his linen cloak and settled on the soft, springy moss under him. Just a quick slumber. But before he knew it, his breath fell into the rhythm of nature’s heartbeat, and Bdubs had fallen into a deep sleep under the protection of the ancient tree stump.
Morning came and went, but Bdubs did not wake. Etho sat in his garden waiting, later sending a worried message to him, but still, Bdubs did not wake. Wolves howled deep in the woods, foxes snooped around, birds flew south, yet Bdubs still did not wake. When the aspen trees lit up in gold, Bdubs only sank deeper into the earth, the tree hollow sealing him away from the world in a quiet, mossy paradise. Sunlight was his usual alarm, but when rays did not reach his eyes, he did not wake.
Moss slowly crept up his sleeves and legs, clinging to his clothing and making home in the warm curls of his hair, yet still, he did not wake. The hermits were worried when he did not reply to their messages, but it wasn’t uncommon for hermits to spend periods of time in their own personal worlds… not without a heads-up first though.
— — —
Etho would walk past this tree stump many times, unaware his best friend was sleeping inside– not dissimilar to a baby in their mother’s womb. Etho perched on a tree branch, lost in his own world. He came up here to think often, preferring fresh air and higher elevations to clear his mind. Bdubs was the world's timekeeper, first to sleep and first to wake, ushering in a new day, chasing the sun across the sky, waking it from its sleep. Lately, Etho noticed that the sky was less bright during the day, almost like dawn had never broken the horizon at all. Such was typical for a late Autumn day, but he couldn’t help but feel as if this was the outcome of Bdubs’ disappearance. Perhaps Bdubs’ watch had stopped working? Etho had carefully crafted that pocket watch and took it upon himself to provide monthly maintenance; its accuracy was integral to the hermit’s world. Etho rubbed his chin with his gloved hand, thinking. There was no denying short days were shorter, long nights were longer, the steady rhythm of time had slipped.
Etho missed his buddy, but he wasn’t as worried as others thought, for no matter how groggy the sun was, it still showed itself, rather briefly, day after day. He knew his sun would one day rise too. Heading home, Etho skillfully navigated down the tree, stopping by here and there to take in the pleasant aromas of the forest; he loved the earthiness of rotting leaves the most.
He prepared his garden for winter– laid down a bed of straw for his most delicate plants, harvested seeds, and brought some potted plants indoors. He brought his fox, Sly, indoors when he noticed the first signs of frost. He started going to Bdubs’ cottage on the hill, stoking a fire to keep the cold from cracking the thick wooden beams, but also because he liked the look of smoke rising from the chimney when he walked back home. It gave life to the land without its steward present. He visited Bdubs’ horses too, changing their water, spoiling them with freshly harvested carrots from his garden, and changing their hay.
The forest was now blanketed with dewy snow, yet Bdubs did not wake. In the hollow beneath the earth, it was warmer than one might think. The moss continued to creep into his clothes and skin, forming a pale green blanket. What did BdoubleO dream of? A foggy string of memories: summer nights in long lost worlds, brisk mornings in a snow-walled fortress, ponies, friends, regrets, castles. The moss was akin to mycelium, perhaps drawing energy not from the sun but from the ancient tree stump, and now, from Bdubs’ warmth. He would later proudly tell Etho: “a sort of sym-bi-o-sis occurred.” Etho would be surprised that Bdubs even knew what that word meant, not that he was any better with words or anything.
But for now, winter became colder, and Etho began to push snow off the path which connected his home to Bdubs’, still diligently stoking seemingly eternal flames. When the snow fell too heavily, he opted to fly with elytra, but still, he preferred to walk, even if it meant putting on 3 pairs of socks to wade through the snow. He was inexplicably drawn to strolling through the path, remembering something about immersiveness Bdubs had explained to him. He loved how the bridge before the forest creaked knowingly when he paused to take in the sights of the now frozen cascade, and how with each step, Bdubs took him into a new painting. Even though he was gone, Etho could feel his presence everywhere. Would Etho have learned to see the world this way if not for the countless little conversations, ahem, lessons Bdubs had absentmindedly drabbled on about over the years? Since when had he gained the ability to feel the vibrations of the earth?
When the winter felt endless, he would remind himself: patience. For his best buddy, his mentor in nature, he would simply wait, and one day, water started to trickle under the frozen brook. Etho almost fell into his pond while ice fishing as patches started to thaw. Well, he liked to think he didn’t actually fall in, but the boots cooking dry by the fire told a different story. He almost forgot about them, and burned his finger on the netherite buckles when he saw that they were almost red-hot. A clumsy ninja.
— — —
Pale rhizoids happily drank melted snow, mossy tendrils now snaked like veins around Bdubs. He shifted in his sleep for the first time, restlessly stretching his arms. Moss was uprooted from the ground, preferring his linen cloak to the damp earth. Each day, he would shift more and more until he was completely free from the soil, reborn in a cloak of pale green moss. When snowdrops emerged from the patchy snow, BdoubleO gently woke from his deep sleep, opening one eye before the other to orient himself.
Still half asleep, he stood up, stretched his stiff legs, and emerged from the hollow. On instinct, he checked his pocket watch, but also caught sight of his new mossy outfit. 7:35, not as early as he’d liked, but earlier than sun it seemed. Still with sleepy eyes, he walked over to the brook and took in the world around him. The last thing he remembered was sketching the early autumn leaves here, but the scenery was completely different. Had the snow really come and gone? The smell of the eastern breeze was unmistakable, spring had come. When he gazed into the stiller part of the brook, Bdubs was in awe. In his reflection, he couldn’t tell where he ended and the moss began; his clothes were completely enveloped in dormant moss. Suddenly, he could feel it, something like a sixth sense. Bdubs could feel the hum of the earth, feel moisture in the air which calibrated his soul to the landscape around him.
The sun sent its first tendrils of light through the forest, which landed on Bdubs and his moss cloak. An incredibly warm, comforting feeling washed over him, and slowly but surely, turned the pale moss green. The grey moss unfurled at the sun’s touch, like it too had just woken up from a long nap. Just then, Bdubs looked down and noticed that the wooden button which usually held his linen cloak in place was missing. He thought for a moment, then he carefully removed the chain from his prized clock and pinned it to the cloak, securing the two sides. He was less drowsy after the sun hit his face and the breeze played with his moss cloak.
Etho took it upon himself to wake earlier in Bdubs’ absence. Even still, the sun would rarely show, preferring to veil itself in mist and cloud rather than be chastised and hurried along by Etho. Today, he would trim and repot the bonsai trees he had gifted Bdubs, and plant some allium and tulip bulbs outside of Bdubs’ cottage. Keeping himself busy in the mornings was important. If Etho had a moment to spare, without realizing it, he would end up snuggled on the low couch by the fire with Sly and fall into a sleep as easy as ever. Shoveling frozen soil wasn’t simple, but imagining how beautiful the tulips would look blanketing the hillside in a few short months was enough of a motivation– a vibrant and exuberant gift for his buddy. He imagined the bouquets he and Bdubs would make to gift the other hermits and add pops of colour to otherwise mundane rooms.
Just then, a ray of sun peaked over the mountains, setting the cottage ablaze with orange-pink light. Etho’s heart began to race. Spring was here, the world was coming alive, and if the sun was finally out, surely Bdubs was too. It was one of the longest winters he had ever experienced; he could wait a little longer for his buddy to return, he reasoned, but the sun was unmistakably warm this morning.
— — —
Bdubs took the long way home– he wasn’t exactly in a rush to see the likely dilapidated state of his homestead. When he first proposed the idea to build a log cabin to his friends, Scar was just as enthusiastic, but Smart-Alec Etho just had to tell him the cold hard truth that yes, it would be beautiful (everything you touch turns to gold Bdubs), but it would also require a copious amount of maintenance and care, especially in the winter. Etho… Bdubs could vaguely remember a promise he had made, something about trimming his rose bushes… whoops. He’d have to apologise as soon as he could– if his cabin was still intact and not frozen solid by now with his ‘open-concept’ windows.
As the forest cleared and his cottage came into view, he spotted a solitary figure. Dyed in the pink of dawn, shovel in hand, the figure paused his digging to take in the scenery around him and tentatively bask in the weak morning sun, as if afraid it might darken at any moment. Glistening silver hair dancing in the breeze, green trapper hat and coat, black leather gloves, (no mask today): all told the familiar story of the person he failed to prune roses with, the time signature in the overture of his life. Gentle smoke wafted out of the cottage’s chimney, and suddenly Bdubs could relax, for his quiet paradise had been well taken care of after all. His slow stroll towards the hill turned into a light jog until he was sprinting towards it, towards Etho, curls tousled by wind, mossy cloak billowing behind him. The sun continued to rise, finally shaken from its lethargy. Etho finally caught sight of him, snapping out of his daze, and his eyes grew wide and a charming, crooked smile formed on his face on full display. The two met at the base of the windswept hill. Etho was greeted with the warmest, mossiest hug he had ever received. The sensation, he would later describe, was that of “hugging the forest itself.” The two stayed like that for a while, taking in the presence of one another without a care in the world. Gusts of wind encircled them, but no breeze could permeate the mossy cocoon of their embrace.
“Quite the cape you got on there, BdoubleO,” Etho laughed.
“You… It’s a cloak, I’ll have you know,” Bdubs retorted, but he couldn’t help cracking a smile.
— — —
Bdubs recounted the whole story over tea, or more accurately his hypothesis of what happened while Etho fixed him some breakfast.
“...and that is how I got superpowers and became...Moss Man!” Bdubs concluded proudly, bumping his knee under the table as he tried to strike a superhero pose.
All the more reason why it's a cape, thought Etho, laughing, but really, he did think the moss fitted the man so enamoured by nature and so careful to nurture every blade of grass.
— — — — — —
When Bdubs returned, Etho noticed the train of Bdubs’ cape had grown longer when they had hugged. His close inspection of Bdubs who sat across from him, scarfing down his breakfast, yielded fascinating results. Etho’s deceptively listless eyes swept through the moss in his hair, which seemed to start and end in soft verdant patches, rhizoids perhaps growing straight from his scalp. Vines creeped around his red headband…how one with nature. Very Von Sway. Bdubs stared back at Etho with curious glossy eyes. Undoubtedly, Etho was hatching a mischievous plan. In the afternoon, Etho hid behind the Horsey Stable. Bdubs was inside, cooing and caring for his beloved Climb10. As soon as Bdubs reluctantly left the barn door, not before promising Climb10 all the apples and carrots in the world, Etho lept out and yelled “BOO! DID I MAKE YOU JUMP?”
Etho’s ‘one with nature’ suspicions were proved correct when the usually soft and gentle moss pricked up like the spines of a porcupine as the small man sprung into the air.
“What was that for, you Stupid?” yelled an electrified BdoubleO. Etho only flashed a toothy smile, content with his science.
— — —
The next day, Etho was plotting yet another experiment, forgive him for being just a little curious. During his inspection over breakfast the day before, he noticed that not only moss, but also spindly vines, nether sprouts, and fern fiddleheads sprung out of Bdubs and his cloak. Etho wondered if different, new plants could grow out his cape. Etho, deep in thought, perched high in the fragrant branches of the budding cherry tree in his backyard, scritched Sly’s ears. He needed seeds small enough that Bdubs wouldn’t notice, and provide enough of a stir when they were fully grown. Flowers, he and Bdubs loved flowers. The vibrant image of crimson poppies popped into his mind. Poppies would do the trick. It would take some time for them to bloom, but Etho was a patient person. He pictured Bdubs parading around the town with a head and cape full of bright red poppies, and choked from laughter. What a marvelous gift, imagination is, thought Etho. Sly must’ve not imagined along, as he gave his owner a side eye and excused himself from Etho’s arms, gracefully landing beneath the cherry tree.
Etho invited himself to Bdubs’ place, hand languidly tucking a packet of poppy seeds into his pocket before leaving. When he arrived, he was surprised to see the moss cloak he thought for sure was attached to Bdubs was hanging on the coat rack.
“Yes that’s right,” Bdubs proudly exclaimed when he saw Etho’s gaze on his cloak, “I can take it off, aren’t I great?”
When Bdubs went upstairs to grab his sketchbook to show Etho some new building plans, Etho absentmindedly emptied the whole seed packet onto the lively green cloak. It was a perfect operation with flawless execution, no one, not even eagle-eyed Bdubs could tell they were there. Etho’s hands fidgeted with excitement.
— — —
When Spring turned to Summer, Bdubs suddenly lit up with passionate scarlet flowers and it was even more spectacular than Etho had ever imagined. The red made an excellent contrast against green, and petals would float away sagely as Bdubs walked. Every hermit would turn their heads when Bdubs made his presence known. Etho was rather proud of his work, even bringing Sly with him to show that his plotting (and laugh-choking) was well worth it.