The Last Dryad

|08| Dryad History

Arron

Talb announced all of the usual things after making his big statement about the dryads. Arron was glad he had promised money. That would keep the rest of the crew honest and helpful.

His eyes searched through the crowd for Silla's. What the man from the mob- Zane had been his name, although Arron refused to use it- had said frightened him. There was a whole group of men who believed that the dryads were somehow responsible for the horrible working conditions of the poorer villages. Arron's guess was that they didn't really believe it was the dryad's fault. They were just desperate men with an equally desperate need to blame someone for their suffering. And it was easy to blame the dryads; to them it probably looked like they stood by and did nothing while the people worked. Arron knew better from his time with a bookkeeper as a master. The man had passed away only a few months into Arron's service, rendering him jobless once again, but while he had been there he had learned basics in reading and writing that no one else would teach him.

The other dran's hadn't spoken to him much before, but after being educated he felt an even wider gap. Their lack of teaching made them feel like he was putting on airs when he talked about books and reading. It simply wasn't done as a dran, they had reminded him. He had continued anyways, and thrown himself into the books. Learning not only of the dryad rebellion, but of the cost that it had taken.

He remembered an old conversation with the elderly bookkeeper.

"Sir," Arron had asked cautiously, "I know it isn't my place to ask questions, but this one part of the book doesn't seem to match with what I've heard."

"I don't mind if you ask questions, boy," the man had told him, stoking the fire. "Speak your mind. What doesn't make sense to you?"

"Well it's this part about the dryads, sir. It says that they tried to rebel against the Dra and were made into his slaves instead. I've always heard that they did it because they didn't like humans."

"That's just what the Dra want you to think. Any good history scrolls or texts will tell you that there were many rebellions. The dryads didn't like Lord Dra any more than we do, there are records of them even joined forces with us on occasion. When Lord Sigon Dra heard of their plans he bound them to him with markings on all of their young, and had the older dryads carted away to work his fields and his forges. That's why you never see any dryad above thirty in the villages."

Arron's memories faded as his mind returned to the present. Silla's family had been ripped from her early, but it would only have been a matter of time before the Dra did the same thing the mob did. Then she would never have met him. In a twisted way, Arron owed the mob for bringing her to him, despite the despicable and lowly way it had occurred.

"That concludes evening announcement," Talb said, sitting down on another log. "You louts can all go and sleep now, seein as no one pays attention to announcements anyway." The men cheered happily in agreement- probably at least in part the work of the ale- and began to disperse to their different wagons and tents, leaving their dishes with the cook. Arron took off to find Silla.

"Wake up, silly Umid. We have to go back to the wagon. You can't just lie around and wait." It was Laurelin's voice.

He could see them now, but he waited in the crowd to see what she said.

"Arron," Silla whispered peacefully in her sleep. Wait. Warmth tingled in his chest. Was she dreaming about him?

Laurelin poked Silla playfully, forcing her awake. "Lovestruck goose. Arron isn't going to carry you back to the wagon. I'm going to have to do it if you don't scoot."

"I'm sorry Laurelin!" Silla said, sitting up stiffly. "I can't believe I just fell asleep. I guess it's been a long day is all. I can walk."

Laurelin's face darkened, her good mood vanishing with the heat from the night. "A long day full of you getting beat up. Those purple bruises are just one reason you have every right to be exhausted. Come on, move along. You have to look nice for Arron in the morning, so I order you to have a good night sleep."

"Actually I think she looks fine," Arron told Laurelin, smiling down at Silla's sleepy face. His heart clenched at the bruising. If only he could have reached that wagon faster. He vowed to keep her safe from then on.

"Come on then, up you go." He said as he pulled her delicate frame up into his arms. He decided wrapping her arm around his shoulders would cause her too much trouble for walking, leaving his own agenda for it to stay in his subconscious.

Laurelin hid a smile behind her hand. "I'll catch up later. I've got some... stuff to do. You go on ahead." Then she clapped her hands and scurried off, looking back over her shoulder with that childish glee of hers. He wasn't sure if it was a Meliae thing or just a Laurelin thing.

Silla's eyelids drooped, and that was his cue. He took off for her wagon, stopping by his own to grab blankets and pillows. Arron didn't know what they had slept on in the Dryad groves, but he wanted her to comfortable. They had almost reached the wagon went he felt Silla shift in his arms.

"Arron," she said softly, gently snuggling into his shirt. He tightened his grip on her. What had he been thinking earlier? No man was going to carry her but him.

He felt her warm breath on his skin as she pressed her face into him. She seemed so comfortable, so peaceful. He almost wished he didn't have to relinquish her to her bed.

Too soon they reached her wagon and he laid out the supplies on her cot. Carefully arranging it so that it would support her during the night, he settled her onto its depths, missing her warmth.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered to the sound of her light breathing. With that he stepped back out into the moonlight.