Heart of Oak

Building Bridges

Oakengrove had returned home a lot faster than Saea expected, faster than anyone at the home tree expected. Worse yet, when did return, he locked himself in his room for three days straight. On day four, Saea wanted to break the concern that lingered like stale air over the tree's residents. She walked up the spiral staircase to the top of the tree, stopping a few feet short of Oakengrove's door. She could hear him pacing. His walk was more like heavy-footed stomping. She pressed a hand to the door and pushed it open.

She peeked into the room and saw him staring back at her with his big brown eyes. "Sorry to disturb you," she said meekly. "Everyone's worried about you."

Oakengrove turned his gaze away, looking out the only window he had in the room. He took a deep breath and spoke bluntly, "We've been awake for only a few months, Saea. I haven't even seen snow yet, and the world wants me dead."

Saea fell silent. She didn't know how to respond. Instead, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She kept her distance, but lowered her head sympathetically.

Oakengrove took a seat on a magically grown chair. It groaned beneath his weight, but it held firm. "I don't understand it. There's a piece to this puzzle I'm missing, something that explains this hatred towards me."

Saea approached him and melted into a blob on the floor at his feet, a more relaxed form that she only used in his presence. "Is there anything I can do?"

He put a gnarled wooden hand on his ivy beard and stroked it. The motions helped him think. He was still waiting for Falcher to return from Huma and Simadger was abroad as well. The idea of sending his people out to act as spies had value to it, but there was a risk, a very big risk of death. The Dracolich encounter haunted him relentlessly. If something so powerful could hide in plain sight, then he could no longer guarantee his or their safety. Despite that, he couldn't afford to sit around and wait for the army to arrive and summarily execute him. "There is something I could have you do. The lamia was in league with the Basars and although he acted rashly and independently, they feared retaliation from me. While I could easily cut the head off the monster, there are five hundred heads that need to roll. Then there's Rykensvik, the country south of us."

Saea perked up and reshaped into a human form, down on one knee. "I'm at your service, master."

"This is going to be risky as shit, but I need you to play spy for me," he commanded. "Head down to Rykensvik, the city of Anslo specifically, and start making connections. Your safety is paramount to the task at hand. If it gets dicey, get out. If you're cornered, consume them should it come down to that. Otherwise, build connections, get information, and keep me notified of any military movements."

Saea bowed her head. "Yes, Oakengrove. I will do what is necessary."

Saea did not know how to interact with humans. Coming down from Oakengrove's room, she bumped into Frida, who was on her way up with a rucksack of tools and parts. "Frida, do you have any spare clothes?"

The lizardfolk puffed her cheeks momentarily. "Ones that'll fit you? Probably." She motioned for Saea to follow and led her up to her room. Frida spent the summer building furniture for everyone, and she stored most of the prototypes in her room. The dresser was a six-drawer, five-foot-tall hunk of wood plankings slapped together painfully, crudely. Frida unevenly filed down the drawers to a size that left a quarter inch gap on all sides and they stiffly slid on a singular wood rail. She yanked the drawer out to its hard stop and started shuffling through some clothes. "I don't know what you like style-wise. Most of my stuff is functional; cargo pants, smith aprons, junk shirts I don't care about, the simple stuff."

"I just need to look normal?" She posed it more so as a question to herself. Saea never wore clothes, slimes lacked a rigid enough body necessary to wear some. She also lacked the feminine features that would allow most to see her as a woman. Anyone outside Oakengrove's circle would see a featureless and vaguely human-shaped slime. "What counts as normal?"