Heart of Oak

To Spring Anew

A low fog hung over the land, creating a warm glow in the morning summer sun. Deciduous trees swayed gently in the breeze as if stretching after a long slumber. One such tree stretched a little too much. A series of cracks reverberated around him, and he snapped to attention. His eyes darted around, looking for the source of the noise. The morning cacophony of birds sang their calls, but no bird would make that egregious crackling sound. The treant reached out towards the sky, and the cracking sound reoccurred.

His brown eyes stared at the weirdly jointed limb of his tree-like branches. His elbow had cracked. A perplexed stare was quickly replaced by shock and surprise as he scanned the rest of his tree-like body. Much to his dismay, he was, without a shadow of a doubt, a living, sentient treant.

It was very early in the morning, just a few minutes past sunrise, and the fog made the land cool and damp, casting a misty haze like a sheet of ground webbing. He stepped out of his resting spot, ripping up the soil as he moved his stiff legs. The fog obscured any sense of direction; thus, he simply continued forward. A few minutes of walking brought the treant to the edge of a lake where the fog was the thickest. He knelt and leaned in to take a drink from the freshwater.

Dripping into the water was a large leafy beard made up of an amassed collection of garden-variety ivy. He pressed his wooden lips to the water, fully submerging the beard, and began to drink from a thousand spots at once. The sensation spooked the treant, and, with a few scrambling steps, stared at the water. "What the-" the voice that came out of the tree was masculine, low, and rumbly like distant thunder. "Think, what am I? Where am I? Who am I?"

It would be several hours before those questions would be answered. The midday sun finally burned off all the morning fog, even the densest parts that hung low over the lake. A reflection shone back at him, a reflection of a well-aged oak tree with a build large enough to count the rings accurately. Staring at his reflection brought back a flash of memories, still images of scenes from years past. He saw faint silhouettes of companions of different sizes and shapes. He saw no faces, like dreamscape people. Their names came to mind; however, at least some of them did.

"Khar!" He called out. "I require you, owl-kin, to be my eyes in the skies."

A series of heavy wing flaps echoed above him, then came a heavy thump behind him as the snow owl landed on the ground. He spoke with formalities, acknowledging the treant as some figure of authority. "At your service, my liege."

The treant turned about and stood up. He towered over the snow owl, casting a shadow over him. Despite this, he was unwavering with his head bowed in respect. "Rise, Khar. I have some questions for you."

The snow owl raised his head. "Ask away."

There was a moment of hesitation before the treant asked his question. "Who am I? What am I?"

The question threw Khar through a mental loop. Why was his master asking for details about himself? Surely, the all-powerful deity knew? "You are Oakengrove, father of the forest. You are a tree spirit, often referred to as a treant or dryad, for simplicity's sake. Do you not remember?"

Oakengrove shook his head. "My memory is hazy like I'm still trapped in a dreamlike trance. I remembered your name and your general appearance, but I could not remember your face. Now that I see you before me, I recognize you like an old friend."

The snow owl quietly nodded. "Do you remember the rest of us?"

"I recall a few others, a centaur of notable build, a winged man no larger than a dwarf, a green dwarf, and a shapeless blue blob," the treant responded. "I cannot give a more in-depth description, for that is all which my mind's eye sees."