09-14-2020, 07:46 PM
WILT
He had watched Loess burn and he hadn’t lifted a finger to save it. The trees murmured, explaining that Lepis had taken a vow to let it all turn to ash. And so Wilt stood beneath the autumn canopy and observed with only detached curiosity, vulgar in its intrigue for the destruction. It had been simple enough to guard Sylva from the fires or any stray Pangeans who wandered too close. He summoned the roots of the ancient oaks and watered the forests with their blood. It wasn’t necessary for his home to burn in order to flourish as they intended for Nerine and Loess.
But this morning Sister informed him that Sylva was no longer their home. It hurt to hear, in a way. Wilt rather liked the crooked saplings and the eerie nights there. He tries to remind himself that there are more shrubs and fields to befriend than just his little patch of the world. This is why he sets out for the north, to see what sorts of things flourish where ice prevailed.
He arrives just as the sun peeks up from the horizon. Morning frost clings to the ash and he can hear every blade of grass crying out for his help when he steps over them on his spindly legs.
“Oh, you’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” he coos with a snicker. Wilt digs into that depth of his abilities and imagines what sorts of things he can craft for them here. They need things that will fight back and not the sad lichen that flourished here. No, the Nerineans need things with teeth and thorns and claws. He grins as the vines curling up his legs dive down into the soil. The blood and the soot of their war will feed something new, indeed.
Wilt is careful to work slowly, meticulously. His creations must be hardy to survive the winters here. He gives them trunks like the pines to withstand the frost. They’re small, for now, and the mouths of the new northern flytraps are just big enough to catch the shrews and stoats. But they’re eager. They snap their little mouths and test their bite at the air around them.
“Happy birthday!” he whispers softly to his creations. A dozen of them dot the landscape for now, but in time they can mature and spawn seed pods of their own. “The people here are your friends, so if they smell like your pollen, do not bite them!”
The new plants shake their needles in excitement and then settle in for a nice rest.
But this morning Sister informed him that Sylva was no longer their home. It hurt to hear, in a way. Wilt rather liked the crooked saplings and the eerie nights there. He tries to remind himself that there are more shrubs and fields to befriend than just his little patch of the world. This is why he sets out for the north, to see what sorts of things flourish where ice prevailed.
He arrives just as the sun peeks up from the horizon. Morning frost clings to the ash and he can hear every blade of grass crying out for his help when he steps over them on his spindly legs.
“Oh, you’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” he coos with a snicker. Wilt digs into that depth of his abilities and imagines what sorts of things he can craft for them here. They need things that will fight back and not the sad lichen that flourished here. No, the Nerineans need things with teeth and thorns and claws. He grins as the vines curling up his legs dive down into the soil. The blood and the soot of their war will feed something new, indeed.
Wilt is careful to work slowly, meticulously. His creations must be hardy to survive the winters here. He gives them trunks like the pines to withstand the frost. They’re small, for now, and the mouths of the new northern flytraps are just big enough to catch the shrews and stoats. But they’re eager. They snap their little mouths and test their bite at the air around them.
“Happy birthday!” he whispers softly to his creations. A dozen of them dot the landscape for now, but in time they can mature and spawn seed pods of their own. “The people here are your friends, so if they smell like your pollen, do not bite them!”
The new plants shake their needles in excitement and then settle in for a nice rest.
Wilt scattered some extra special flytraps around Nerine. They're very small still so if everyone wants to murder them, they can. Or the Nerineans can let them chomp things and get big and mean! Just know that if you kill them, Wilt will cry and never come play again.