The days blended into nights as Haledon spent the next three months fulfilling his oath to Sparrow. He would train in Druidry daily while dedicating his nights to the Astralaceae and its rapidly evolving ecosystem. Most evenings, Haledon found his way back to the den late in the night cycle, covered in sap and barely able to keep himself awake. And while he lay in his leafy bed, allowing the darkness to consume him, the same troubled dreams wracked his unconscious mind for the few hours of sleep he received.
With a start, Haledon opened his eyes from the vivid dreams and instinctually rubbed at his stomach. His sleeping reality had again stopped changing, instead becoming fixated on the wolf at the pond's edge. As the pink moon steadily travelled over the horizon, the wolf would always approach and bury the dagger into his gut every night.
He sighed as he rolled to his side to sit up, carefully keeping his head ducked low in an attempt not to disturb the hammock above him.
The week following the Mecharrion assault, countless Druids were found in survivable pockets of debris collected for decomposition. As the thousands of refugees began integrating into the remaining Astralaceaes and Megacolides, Haledon's ship became the hub for most of the stranded.
The Earth Druids utilized the additional organic matter from the still attached Megacolides to accelerate the Astralaceae's natural modification process. The changes came in many forms, from new research rooms for Earth Druids to larger gathering areas for recreation and additional living spaces.
Even before the survivors arrived, Haledon's single-Druid den had been one of the first to change. At Sparrow's request, the room was grown to accommodate two lofted hammocks hanging over the two leaf beds on the floor.
"You were exceptionally whiney last night," Witch-Hazel commented from the other bed.
"Yeah, well..." Haledon mumbled and stood. He rubbed at his body and brushed excess leaves from his skin. After a long pause and a deep yawn, Haledon continued. "You smell of root rot...get a foliar spray or something."
"Ooh, is there a frost this morning? Because I'm getting a cold shoulder."
"He's just nervous," Gazeas said as she gripped a ceiling root and swung from the hammock above Haledon. "Sparrow is testing us on the first six principles of Permanent Druidic Culture today."
"Just call it Druidry." Witch-Hazel sighed.
"No, I like Permanent Druidic Culture," Gazeas replied with a smile and a laugh. "If you don't like it, you can root yourself in a bog."
"Geeze, both of you are in a mood." Witch-Hazel held their hands aloft, and a small bouquet of white flowers grew from their fingers. "I surrender my ecosystem to you, my Mecharrion developers."
"You'll both do fine!" Spark reassured from the corner.
Haledon looked over to see her naked body bowed down in a stretch with arms reaching for the floor and ceiling.
"Still having trouble with your SOIL?" Haledon asked.
"Yeah, I just can't get the new foliage loose enough for a good stretch without jeopardizing integrity—original bodysuit for yoga until further notice." Standing up straight, Spark tapped her breastplate, and the foliage quickly overtook her body and hardened to bark. "But anyway, now that everyone is up, you should all eat some food."
"Where's Mek-Tek?" Haledon asked, looking at the hollow in the wall that made up the Sciurus' bed.
"He didn't return last night. He's been digging deep into the 'you-know-what.' Say's he's close." Witch-Hazel informed the group.
YOU ARE READING
The Astralaceaes
Ciencia FicciónAboard the Astralaceae, Haledon's purpose was simple: to maintain the balance of nutrients that kept the bramble ship floating through space and seeding planets. Or it would have been if not for the sudden arrival of Druids from Earth and their deli...
