The Smell of Mint Flowers

Losing

She wasn't sure how it had come to this point. In the very beginning of her creation, she had been told to never hinder the living. She was there to help things grow, it went on to say, not hurt them. But as she grew and learned her own limits, she realized that that statement was contradictory. There was no life without death after all, and some things needed to die in order for new life to thrive.

How was she to know which things to keep alive?

It was her friend the evergreen, just as new as herself, that pointed out helping things grow did not always mean keeping them alive. Together they wrestled with the question of what was the reality of helping things grow.

And now, old as they were, there was yet no answer. Her friend had matured brilliantly, sweeping high above the other treetops. But she could sense age in her friend. Just like in autumn when most living plants shed leaves and went into a prolonged stasis to wait for the arrival of spring. It was a sensation she had come to know as impending death.

It made her sad. Her friend would die soon.

They talked about it, at one point. They cried together over the inevitable. And with certain humans making a move on her land, she had no proper time to grieve. Her friend knew this, understood this. Her friend gave her a gift above all others: a single pinecone for her to use. In all these decades, centuries, the evergreen had never dropped a single one.

It was a dainty thing. Vaguely egg-shaped and tightly closed still, it was infused with her friend's energy and will. Her friend told her to use it, endow it with her own power so as to continue what they had discussed before. She was eternally grateful for it. She showed her thanks by layering moss and vines all across her friend, decorated and worn with pride and gratitude.

She spent the night with the little pinecone, putting as much of herself into it as she could.

By the time the sun rose, she was exhausted nearly beyond function. She didn't regret it in the least. The gift thrummed happily where it was hidden away in her robes. She noted her horns felt wobbly, but said nothing. She knew what it meant. She wasn't surprised in the least. She felt content; sad, but content.

He came to visit just as he always did. He arrived just as he always did: from above, with a flair of the jets inlaid in his feet. She welcomed him as she always did.

"Hello and greetings, Cron. How is today?"

Cron smiled across at her. "Ok. I've got word that WIDI are backing down. Isn't that great?!"

She returned the smile. "That is wonderful news, Cron. This might call for a celebration."

His eyes widened at that. "Wait, really? How do you even?"

"Like everyone else," she giggled gently. "I can show you."

Just then, however, noise erupted from the forest below. Epi flinched as if struck, bending over double for a moment. Cron was instantly by her side, alert and worried. She shuddered in pain, biting her lip until it bled to hold in the scream that wanted to claw its way out.

It looked like her time was up.

She stood as best she could, turning to face Cron with a serious expression. He looked taken aback. She dove a hand into the many hiding places in her robes and produced a small, immature pine cone. But, no, the color was right for a fully grown—

Epi shoved it into his hands. "Hold onto this, Cron. Help it grow."

Her horns fell. He stared at them for a good long moments, then back up at her with wide eyes. She could only smile back.

"Everything starts as the smallest thing. Everything lives. Everything dies."

The meaning finally caught, then. His expression crumpled into shocked grief, and lamenting that he couldn't say goodbye.

Because she was already disappearing. Starting at her hooves and moving up. She collapsed, and Cron went with her, holding her in his arms as the noises down the mountain grew with ferocity and great ripping and tearing. She wished she could do something. Just a little thing.

Maybe she still could.

She struggled to sit up, facing the sounds. She brought a hand up and pulsed out one, feeble wave of power. For those more open to her magic, they would see not trees, but loved ones being mowed down. They'd feel her pain and loss and outrage and grief as everything she stood for was torn down after millenia of helping them grow.

Sniffling caught her attention, and she turned back to find Cron crying. Oh, she'd forgotten he'd been supporting her when she'd used her power. And she'd made him cry. She felt terrible for it all of a sudden.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said as earnestly as she could muster. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Cron only shook his head vigorously.

"I know," came his choked reply. "I know."

And they grieved together. They cried and wept until the frontloader broke through the trees and into the inner circle with the temple. The greedy humans couldn't understand why Cron was just sitting there, weeping over the destruction of nature. Progress was progress, wasn't it?

And the figure that had been in his arms for a brief second before vanishing into thin air, that had been a trick of the light.

Right?

~Cont. in Part 3