Such a trivial thing, finding company in the depths of a dark wood, taking time to form words for the traveller. A task that rarely presented itself to the chestnut, vocals underworked, the cordial properties of the exercise came back surprisingly smooth. It was easy to talk to this one, the tense surprise of their first moments had left, absorbed by the thicket until it was undone.

She is anything but insignificant he decides.

Druid had grown a lot in this isolation, faced with himself, there was much to learn and adjust to knowing. Things that left unseen rivets where they touched, cutting as deep as any blade, tracing facts to flesh.

Truth hurts sometimes, even one’s own self truths.

As her light dims, her subtle luminescence, he realizes she has found that pain- he can relate.

Matching steps, finding the fluid movement of her gait he walks a known path, one that would stray from the shadow. The fruit sought light, unable to grow in the full cover of shade, sprouting only where the sun broke the boughs and leaked life upon the earth. Gratitude causes him to nod, dipping his head towards her, leaning with the effort of the movement- he was not expecting that.

“I can understand that,” his words begin to shed weight, rolling against his lips easier with each use. The tone begins to change, less gruff, lacking a baritone thrum and settling into an alto more than anything else. Akin to the river, not the rocks against which they flowed.

“There is no need to thank me, you’re more than welcome. I forgot what it was like to listen to someone else talk,” the progression is enough to lend the sound of birds, the rush of other animals scrambling against the leafy floor. Sounds that make Druid stop, ears twisting against a golden crown, swampy eyes seeking the low growing bushels.

It hits him, all at once, with force and sends a feeling of electricity against his nerves.

The other self made this so much easier, here he was, coming to terms with that knowledge as he stood-1500 pounds of horse meat.

“I’m afraid I must apologize, it usually doesn’t take this long to find them-” what else was he to do, stepping on his own feet to offer her an apology. Stumbling over a defense in haste, even before the atonement is finished, his body is contorting- a visual haze that shrinks. Prismatic, indiscernible movements, like ripples of water on a windless lake until only a small scent hound is left.