The Smell of Mint Flowers

Knowing

Over the next few days, a routine had developed between them. Cron would make repairs, tending to structural and aesthetic problems while she would tend to the gardens in and around her courtyard. They would sit and chat on their breaks, or the mortal would simply watch her plucking dead growths and encouraging new ones. Most of the garden beds were somewhat protected by heavy tree cover, so when intermittent snow fell, it wouldn't damage the plants.

She'd even taken to humming a long forgotten tune as she worked.

The topics of discussions varied quite a bit when they talked. He would ask about features of the grounds, such as the paths or waterfall or the cottage. He would ask about previous caretakers and visitors that stood out to her. She in return would ask about things elsewhere in the world, such as technology or society as a whole. She found his interest in music after he'd asked about the tune she sang to herself, and he had learned of her love for the ocean quickly thereafter.

But things were not perfect. She could feel when the corrupt mortals returned to her grounds. They didn't return to her temple, but they lingered on the edges of her woods.

She knew what they were doing. It was during times Cron would be away for the tasks he did for the professor. For them to know when he'd be away interested her. It meant Cron must be something out in the world away from this lonely mountainside.

And really, she didn't mind their visits. The mortals didn't destroy anything when they visited, though they did touch and test a few things. They were surveying the land for development, she knew. She was careful not to tell Cron too much about their visits when she could get away with it.

But there was a line she wouldn't let them cross. Yet knew they would, one day. She didn't have a plan of action, per say, but she did know how to introduce it. When there were no visitors, she would coax thorny vines to sprout near the edge of the clearing her sanctuary stood at. They didn't impede the paths, not yet. But they were sturdy and unmovable by ordinary means. If Cron noticed them, he didn't mention anything. Most of the grounds she could live without, but her friend the evergreen was where she refused to budge.

Then the visits came more often. Cron looked stressed during the few times she saw him. Pieces were moving across the board: she felt it. How far would she let them go? She began to listen in on their conversations, urging the trees to inform her of impending danger.

The signal came. The line was crossed. She took action.

She stood at the edge of the clearing under one of the lattice archways facing the foot of the mountain. She sent word through the trees and undergrowth of the possible paths the danger could take. They would protect the heart of this place, she knew.

She felt them take shape. Thick thorny vines she'd been fostering thus far shot up to loop through trees and bushes and lattice and each other to create a tough impenetrable barrier that would require specialized knowledge of adventuring nature or the work of sophisticated machinery to get past. Similarly, she willed the woods to bend and flex, twisting around and in on themselves to become a maze.

The next they came, they quickly left. An approach by foot was no longer an option. They expressed confusion about the change in layout of the woods and blamed it on the mapmakers. Progress was stunted.

As they left, discussing the options left to them, she lingered to listen to them talk. They had yet to get ownership of the land, it seemed, so bringing large machines to cut their way in was out. And they were getting good data on the survey of the land, what 'developments could be made' and what, if anything, could remain.

Her nose wrinkled, returning her awareness to her physical being. Did humans really think so little of nature now? The thought saddened her. She'd fought to keep faith in mortals despite their seeming disregard for nature. But now, she wasn't so sure.

One of her hooves pawed the ground in minor annoyance. The vines would stay, she decided. But she gave the woods the will to bring her attention to souls to heal and do so while they wandered the paths. She gave the woods a will of their own. They had trust in each other, and acceptance of whatever awaited them both.

Returning to the vine-covered lattice archway she'd been tending to, the fragile beginnings of a plan began to sprout in her mind. She glanced to her friend the evergreen, starting up a discussion on the subject.