The Whispers Of Trees

1. Two Become One

Standing beneath a dome of tree roots, a mix of glowing, sun-haloed ivy and string of hearts created a thin veil of a curtain around Orym, his wife and a tranquil gathering of men and women. The select few prepared him for the binding ceremony. At least that's what they said was being done to him, but in all honesty, he felt no more prepared than he did in the early hours of the morning, wandering through the whispering woods, unable to sleep.

Concoctions of ground-up plants such as amaryllis, to supposedly represent his pride, Angelica, for inspiration, basil and bittersweet for truth and good wishes, were applied to his body in lines and swirling patterns.

He wished he could wipe it off and run, but it was in no way an option and he would be penalised, if not imprisoned for doing so, no matter how much his wife swore beneath her breath.

It was an important moment in every one of their lives and it just happened to be his time, although he didn't quite feel the honour he was told he would feel, along with all of the other emotions other than panic.

It wasn't as though it was sprung upon him with no warning, he knew it was to be, like the others, from the day he could understand.

When a child in their village is born a seed shall fall from Birchwood village tree, that seed is planted within the hour of the birth and from there, they both grow, together they thrive and age until two must become one.

Bound together, should one perish then so shall the other, for neither can survive without their counterpart. Reaching the age of Forty rings one would give their being and life to its tree, to share their knowledge and guidance with the young, to rejoin their soul for eternity.

That's what Orym was waiting for, his ceremony, his eternity.

He thanked the spirits above that he was able to witness the birth and ageing of his daughter, Faelyn, who would not long see the birth of her first child.

Orym watched her and his wife Alea as they stood before him chattering. His tree companion through life, Alimar, as he would refer to him, awaited him in the background while ground cinnamon and honey were spread over his cheekbones and neck.

What a mess he uttered under his breath, Honey wasn't pleasant to remove and he hated the smell of cinnamon, it seemed things would just keep getting worse he supposed.

Fear was at the forefront of his mind, not that he would admit it out loud, but he had to be strong for his lady, seeing as she would easily give into things such as this. They all knew there was no other option and yet, if he spoke his mind and worries, she would try to deliberate and get him to run away or stand his ground. But he wasn't as strong as her, he never had been, Orym was a coward in the eyes of most as he actively avoided confrontation and situations that involved an argument.

It wouldn't take much to change his mind but he had no say in what was to come, it was his and was soon to be everyone else's birthright, besides, it wasn't completely a goodbye. In a way.

Moss and Ivy was gradually wound into his hazel locks and for a minute he feared he would look like his woodland brother if they continued to decorate him with the accumulations of the forest floors.

Of course, over the rings he had asked the trees for guidance and, if he were to be openly honest, a hint as to what his second life would entail, but he had no such luck with a direct reply.

The trees had a way of saying things, or rather writing them. Nothing was ever clear and would leave you more confused than when you first asked. Riddles seemed to be their way of connecting with the living, so to speak.

Orym, on many occasions, as he took himself on one of the nightly walks that kept him awake, with the nightly sounds of owls who-ing and the crickets badly playing their racket of instruments, promised himself that he would not be so vague with his answers to others, there would be no riddles on his part.