Forest

Forest sees. Forest hears. Forest listens and does not understand. Does not understand the bipedal creatures speaking in strange tongues. Beastlings, Forest says, and everyday Forest watches. The beastlings remind Forest of the animals living amongst the trees with Forest: predictable, varying in sizes and shapes, different colors, young, old, dirty, clean. Yes, in ways the beastlings are just the same as the other animals, but also in ways different.

The beastlings are weaker than animals, yet armed with a strange intelligence beyond nature and fear. Communication is smooth and plainly understood despite how little the beastlings look at each other, baring teeth and howling in irregular patterns. The beastlings come and go, take and give, create and destroy. Destroy, destroy, destroy.

The beastlings come one night, numerous and trampling, howling. The beastlings shine bright lights, break the branches and leaves, scare away mother from fledgling, kill louse and fly underfoot. Forest watches these beastlings closely. The beastlings move unhurriedly, but loudly, a strange odor following the pack, wafting around the beastlings like a drifting fog. 

The smallest of the group picks boulders up from the path to throw, not looking, not hunting, not playing, just throwing. Forest does not understand the purpose but the stones hit the trees with force before plummeting back to the soil, crushing vegetation, flowers and leaves with a crunch that makes Forest recoil. Another boulder hits a nest and the roost falls. The eggs within shatter and spill now spoiled new life into the dirt. Then the whole pack of beastlings howl before continuing further through the trees.

A pair split off for only mere moments, pressing face to face, limbs tangled in what Forest can only think is the beastlings in heat. The mated pair turn to a tree and begin to peel away bark with a blunt object until the fresh sapwood beneath is exposed. With force, the pair use the strange tool to cut into the wood until a symbol remains. A scar in the young tree.

Deep into the trees, the beastlings take refuge near the river bank, erecting small settlements, and howling again under Moon glow. Wood is set ablaze at the heart of the camp as whistles and tones emit from the settlement, sounds foreign to the trees. Forest chokes on the thick smoke of burning limbs and life. Each heated crack of wood echoes against the stone and trees and lights the night in a faint orange glow.

Loud. Unruly. Orgulous.

Why do the beastlings attack the trees, chase away animals with howls, and disturb the brood’s roost? The beastlings feel no love for the trees. These beastlings feel no true reverence for the sacred life and bounty found in the trees. Forest feels hate for these beastlings. So Forest protects the trees. Forest means to chase away the beastlings. The beastlings do not see, do not hear, do not know Forest.

Small miracles first.

Forest calls upon Wind to destroy the flimsy settlements, to chase away the invaders. Slow in the beginning, the Wind answers with leaves rustling an ancient song, sung for years before the time of beastlings. Forest remembers this time, the true sounds of nature, unpolluted and free.

The foreign whistles cease when Wind answers again with a strong, mighty roar. New howls sound out, like the wails of a newborn calf. Tongues converse as the beastlings tuck away into the erected structures and the settlements bustle against the current. Some fall, others hold up against smartly devised supports to withstand the might of nature’s cruel punishment. Embers scatter in the Wind’s current and threaten to burn the settlements. The beastlings do not know, and stay, hiding away like a hare trapped in a den.

Forest steps closer, ancient limbs creaking and cracking as Wind continues to shriek through the trees. The ground is littered with objects Forest has not seen before, the smouldering wood on the ground suffocating the ants and the birds. Forest lets out another groan of displeasure and the beastling tongues quiet, perhaps finally listening to the lay of Wind and Forest. Will the beastlings heed the warning of the merciful birds, taking flight on ferocious wings beating at once?

Forest calls upon Sky to smother the fire and wash away the beastlings' scent and filth. 

The rain will fall and fill the river with nourishing waters, Sky foretells. The trepid Moon’s glow takes cover behind dark clouds and rain comes. The water splashes the leaves with a gentle patter, muddying the dry ground, filling the air with moisture that Forest breathes in with a hearty gulp.

A shiver shakes through Forest’s branches. The leaves tremble with a great turbulence, limbs clacking together as Wind playfully bats at the falling droplets with long arms that transform into a great torrent. Sky ripples with delight, a sudden flash of light and a hideous bellow that shakes the ground. The beastlings let out high pitched howls too, as though to join the song of magnificent storm that is ringing through the trees now.

As the river bank overflows, the current strong and sweeping away scattered objects, small waves begin to lap at the edge of the erected settlements. The beastlings finally appear, making hurried and frantic movements, like an animal escaping the claws of its predator. The beastlings take down the structures, hurriedly stow away objects not yet claimed by the river, fumbling around in the dark of night without Moon’s guidance.

Sky lets the rain fall heavier, faster, even as the beastlings move quicker. Sky and Wind know, no mercy to come for disrespectful invaders, as Forest said.

The beastlings flee with head coverings and more scattered howls that accentuate each cackling rattle from the Sky. The animals smartly remain hidden away, even as the beastlings trample back the same path through the trees.

The howls are drowned out by the relentless storm, fury swirling through every tree and limb, every rock and crevasse, every den and hole. Sky wails again and again, Wind goading each strike of powerful light. Forest watches, drenched in the pain of the torrent. Forest’s pain is the pain of Wind and Sky. 

Over moments, when the beastlings have long since fled and the animals shiver in dens, the Wind calms and comes to a hum and the Sky lets out a sigh that settles the rain to a gentle, cleansing patter. 

Forest watches still, and sends appreciation to the great Sky and Wind. Forest lumbers back, letting limbs shudder with relief, roots sliding through cool mud, and leaves tucking away water droplets for new growing buds. Forest feels peace as the nourishing water filled air breathes a new life, as always before.