Heart of Oak

To Spring Anew

As the morning summer sun shone brightly, a warm glow emanated throughout the low hanging fog over the meadows. Deciduous trees swayed in the breeze, stretching from their nap. A cacophony of birds sang their calls, nature's wakeup call.

With a silent yawn, one tree stretched its wooden limbs skyward. A series of audible cracks and groans of wood echoed. A pair of brown eyes snapped open and in a panic, darted every which way, looking for the source of the noise. The gaze of the eyes followed the limbs of the tree, watching the furthest digits of the log-like limb flex and creak. The mind behind the eyes could feel the branches flexing, and it watched the rounded edges of the white oak leaves flutter with the movements. It then focused its gaze down toward the ground, where the trunk had split into two, both trunks firmly planted in the ground.

The mind willed itself to move, to lift a leg and step forward. The solid trunks of wood suddenly creased and bent, trying to perform the action requested of them. Under the weight of moisture, the soil crumbled and yielded to the tree's movements. A mass of intertwined roots lifted from the ground, acting like a foot for the tree. The weight of the tree's twelve foot tall body, a mere couple hundred pounds of lumber, pressed the roots into a flat supportive base. The second leg and foot followed shortly after.

"What am I?" The mind spoke its thoughts aloud. A voice, low and heavy, thundered out of a mouth that cracked the woodwork beneath the tree's eyes. Shock once again took over the mind. It pulled in its arms and fingers, covering its mouth. Strangely, it felt more than just a mouth. Resting below its cracked lips sat a massive beard of garden-variety ivy, swaying in the breeze.

The tree thought to give itself an identity. The mind recalled a name, Oakengrove. It somehow knew that to be true. It knew not why. When Oakengrove tried to pull upon his memories, barely anything came to his mind. Frustrated, he decided a walk would smooth things over. A brisk walk through the morning fog led him to the edge of a lake. The fog here was significantly thinner, allowing him to see the shimmering surface of the clean waters. A gruff and ancient face of shaped wood and bark stared back at him. He knew the face to be his. He reached out to the reflection, seeing the mirrored image of his hand on the water's surface. Then his mind realized something. His mouth felt dry and his stomach growled. He moved closer to the water, sinking his root ball of a foot into the water's edge as he leaned in to take a sip.

A cold and wet sensation filled up the inside of his roots. He stumbled backward onto the shore, withdrawing from the water. His gaze focused on the root ball at the base of his legs. "Now that is freaky," he commented, hesitantly inching back to the waters. After several discomforting sips of the lake's water, he turned about and faced the sparsely populated meadows. Oak and birch trees stood in scattered clusters, dotting the rolling hills.

Unannounced, his mind had an idea with no basis in reality. He reached out his hands, pointing a pair of open palms toward the nearest cluster of trees. "I wonder something," he said, as he closed his eyes and saw images in his head. He imagined a large sprawling forest of elder trees, extensive collections of wildlife living within. A gust of wind blasted over him as his strength drained to will the vision to life. He opened one eye, then the other. The small cluster of trees, barely twenty in number, now covered the entire landscape by the thousands. He stared at it in surprise. He then looked down at his hands, confused. "What did I just do?" He asked himself. "What am I?"

Oakengrove then recalled something strange. In his mind's eye, he saw a silhouette of something familiar. The silhouette, at first a blurred mass of black, took the shape of an Ulliar, a subspecies of beastfolk who are more avian than humanoid. Color faded into view, painting the silhouette with black speckled, white feathered plumage and a black beak. Oakengrove looked to the sky and uttered aloud, "Khar Icelynn! I require you to be my eyes!"