The Forestwalker

The Answer

"No," Anya said immediately. "No. No way."

Tree nymphs could be deceiving, cunning and completely confusing. But to give them that much ammunition as to hold your deepest desire, was very well like to give them your own name. Or control of your own mind.

Besides, Anya told herself, she didn't have a deepest desire. Without warning she thought back to the feverish dream she had.

What she had done with Su...

She shook her head. The answer was no. He could pass this information to his other tree nymph colleagues and suddenly she could be constantly tormented by people exactly like him.

"You said anything," he warned in a sing song voice.

She glared.

She nodded. "Fine, but first I ask the question."

"Fair enough."

She retold him the events of the other night. Even, wriggling, as she told how the woman was naked and more about her appearance. She couldn't leave any detail out. She needed to know the answers.

He asked some repetitive, inane questions in turn.

When she finished telling, a new kind of wave of horror washed into her. It just occurred to her, that she would have to live with this feeling forever.

She looked up at him slowly. His eyes seemed to digest all this information. Then, he stared at her, as one might do, before breaking some bad information.

"What. What is it. Do you know what that creature was? Why I killed them?"

He only continued to smile uneasily. So he did know.

He sighed deeply, before speaking. When he wasn't leering, staring or making her uncomfortable, he spoke in a rather pragmatic way. And, she was reminded of how old he must be to have all this wisdom. But, to be this old and to act so childish as he did was a whole other matter ...

"I have heard of something similar before." Anya didn't asked how long ago. Hundreds of years ago ? A thousand ? Yesterday ? "I've only ever heard it once," he said, as if trying to indicate the gravity of the situation," and that, even too, from talk from someone else."

Anya waited impatiently. She couldn't believe how close she was getting to what she wanted.

"There was a man, once. Approached by such a lady. From her, he pulled a daffodil, only to find in the process he had taken her life."

"What happened to him? Was he mortal to begin with?"

He nodded, as if annoyed at Anya's interruption. He continued, "Just listen. They say, he was a special one. Had a special power. You can take someone's life, yes. By killing them. Negligently, or intentionally. But to take someone's soul is such an intimate act."

"To take it in the form of a flower is art, I suppose. Because flowers have meanings. And each soul is different. " He shrugged vaguely on that point, as if he couldn't care to know their meanings.

"I don't understand," Anya persisted. " I never knew her before that night."

He shrugged, as if eager to get to the part where Anya did what he requested. "Maybe. But about that guy - they had a special word for him I can't remember. Again, you can't take someone's soul."

"They have to give it to you," Anya finished flatly. A tear rolled down her cheek. This whole time, she had thought she was a murderer. Instead, in this light, it felt as though she were some sort of angel.

Helping stranded or tortured souls, flee their suffering from being ghouls or tree nymphs or spirits. A sort of intermediary?

So many questions still swirled inside her mind ? What did she do with the flowers afterwards ? Was that how all flowers were made.

And just as she began to ask them, he gave her a cruel smile. As if, finally happy at the part of the conversation they were on. "Your question's up."