The God Grove

Running is something often felt, if distantly. Feet thudding against grass and ground, the impacts sending vibrations through the earth and my roots below. Everything runs. Squirrels, rabbits, deer, foxes. A human running wasn’t odd, although this part of the woods tended to see human activity less. Our fruit was not meant for human hands. We were only supposed to bear fruit for the gods who’d crafted us.

Do you feel them? I sent along the network of roots that spanned across the grove. The answers came slow, but that was fine. Slow was in our nature.

I do.

I do

Human?

They don’t feel like a god.

One of us should take a look.

Take a look.

I’ll do it. My words surprised me, and for a moment my leaves quivered. But … I couldn’t take them back, either. I wanted to see what a human would be doing in a grove meant for gods. This was something I couldn’t do as I was, tied to my tree and sleeping under the bark. I sent the message again in affirmation. I’ll do it.

Do it. Do it. Do it. It was a chorus of voices urging me on, speaking to the curiosity that thrummed in my sap.

I will. I promised, and then I pulled from my host tree. It wasn’t a pleasant process; it never had been the couple of times I’d tried it before. Being suddenly disconnected from everything was dizzying; I was no longer part of that network of roots and branches. No longer did I have many branching arms reaching towards the sky, heavy with fruits and leaves, instead I had two measly arms and only ten fingers to my name. I stumbled when I hit the ground, instinctually reaching down for stability with my roots … of which I had none. The lack jarred me. I sucked in my first lungful of air.

The action was enough to warn the human. They spun around in a shriek, their long dark curls and white dress flashing as they did so. It was impossible to tell whether they were male or female, I didn’t know how human’s differentiated, but the shock they wore was clear to see. They stumbled away from me, tripped on their dress, and fell to the ground.

I reached out, mouth opening, and the sight of my human hands made me freeze. The small, slim fingers absent of brilliant green growth, the warm brown of my skin – not bark. So soft. It was always a shock when I slipped into this form. I opened my mouth, closed it again. Humans used words, not the understanding I was used to through roots and leaves. How did … How did humans speak again?

“S-stay back!” The human cried, their mouth opening and closing with the words. They scrambled back till they hit another tree, an apple instead of a pear like mine.

Oh yes, humans made sounds with their mouths. What an ineffectual way to speak. I worked my jaw, ran my tongue over my lips, and tried to speak. My voice came out in a shaky croak, and the human winced. I did as well. That … wouldn’t work quite yet. I raised my hands to show I meant no harm.

They flinched at the movement. “Please.” It was a ragged gasp of a word. “Please, I – don’t come any closer.”

I wondered if something was wrong with my appearance. But I set the thought aside and worked my jaw for a moment again. “N-not.” It was a croaking rasp, but at least it was also an identifiable word.

Their face shifted, confused, I think. “You … you can speak?” That fact seemed to ease them a bit. They loosened, staring at me. “N – not what? Not going to hurt me? Not what?”

I made a face at that. Third time's the charm. “Not … safe … for … you … here.” The words came slow, cracked and broken, and for a moment, I thought they hadn’t understood.

They had.

Their whole face twisted, flinched, before breaking into despair. Their eyes were suddenly glossy, pain filled. I noticed for the first time how thin they were, like a bundle of dried twigs. Hollows nestled in their face, filled with shadow. Maybe I was getting used to human body language once more, but … they looked hungry. Humans can’t make their food, unlike us. I wondered when the last time they ate was …

“Why?” They choked out, and I pulled myself from my thoughts. “Why is it not safe here? No one goes here. No one lives here. I should be safe. So, why?”

Ah, foolish human. They could not understand something that was so very clear. I pressed my hands against the ground and made myself as small as possible, even if my words rang out loud. “God … grove… Humans … aren’t … welcome … here.”

For a moment, I thought they didn’t understand. They stared at me, eyes wide, then they fell like their trunk had been cut. Their knees and hands hit the ground. Their head bent forwards, and that dark hair swung out to block my view. “No.” It was a hoarse sound. “No no no no no. I – no! It can’t be. This is sacrilege.” I didn’t know that word, but the way their shoulders shook and the way their voice rose hinted at the meaning. “I didn’t know! I swear, I swear, I didn’t know!” Their shoulders jerked again. They made a noise, I’d never heard it before, but it sounded like they were choking.

I scrambled forwards before thought came in, faster than I was used to moving. My hand landed on a thin shoulder. They trembled beneath my touch. “It’s … alright … you … haven’t … been … discovered … yet.”

“I’m going to die!” Suddenly, they jerked up, yanking from my grip. Their eyes were wild. Their cheeks glistened. “I come here for safety, and I will die for it! How can it be alright?” There was a thick quality to their voice. Something leaked down their cheeks.

“You’re … weeping … sap.” I mumbled.

“I’m crying!” They snapped back. “I’m crying because I’m going to die for entering a sacred place to save my life! No wonder they didn’t follow me. They knew I was as good as dead.”

I didn’t understand. They’d been fleeing, yes, but that was a familiar feeling to my roots. Had they been running from a predator? Oh, poor human. They’d run into the jaws of greater danger, and they didn’t deserve to suffer for such a thing. I reached out again and cupped their cheek. They froze, as my finger swiped over that glistening skin. Water. I knew the sensation well. “Poor … human … do … not … give … up … hope… There … is … time … for … you … yet… Time … is … not … the … same … here… We … belong … to … the … gods. Time … does … to… When … you … leave … you … will … be … safe.”

“I don’t understand.” They choked out. Their eyes closed. They leaned into my touch. “I don’t understand.”

“You … have … been … here … longer … than … you … think… We … hear … the … gods … speak… Time … is … different … here.”

“I’ll be safe?” They asked. Their eyes opened again, and they searched my face desperately. “Truly?”

“If … you … leave … now.” I pulled away and pushed myself up. They watched me, trembling. The thinness in their limbs ate at me. I moved back to my tree. I raised my hand, and one of the branches bent. My fingers closed around a pear, and I tugged it off. I walked back over, pressed it into their hands. “Take … my … token … and … run… It … will … carry … you … to … safety … until … you … reach … home… Then … you … may … eat.”

They moved, fast, and suddenly arms were around my neck, a warm body pressed against mine. They were soft, all curves and skin, and it felt like our forms were melting together, made into one. “Thank you.” They breathed; their voice quiet in my ear. “Thank you.” As fast as they had come, they pulled away. They swallowed, nodded, and for a second their lips tugged up. “Thank you. I will never forget this. You have my gratitude forever.” Then they spun around and ran.

I watched them move, stunned by the contact and the feeling of their breath on my skin. Their feet thudded against the ground, their white dress and dark curls trailing after them before they were swallowed by the trees. Gone. Our meeting had been fleeting, but I could still feel their touch, their hands on my back and their lips against my ear.

Useless thoughts. I shook myself and turned back to my tree. Within moments, I was swallowed by the bark. Gone was that soft skin, face and fingers and toes. Now my roots stretched solid beneath the ground, twined with many others. My leaves drank in the sunlight, branches pressed against those around me. Still, I could feel the human’s touch. I did my best to put it from my mind.

Back?

Back.

Who was it?

What did they want?

A human. I sent, and there was a rustle through the branches at the words. A human didn’t feel right. They were more than human, that thin person with the wild eyes and dark curls. Humans had names. I wish I had thought to take theirs.

What did they want?

The question rustled again, over, and under through the trees. I waited a moment for the echoes to fade, then finally murmured my answer. They wanted to be safe.