The life of a frond is a tedious one, and I have wrote about it. Began writing this in a freewrite for an english course this June (was told to write about am animal, heh) and I finished it later on, I plan on doing work and writing from the perspectives of other creatures of the forest as well, and I have the plot thought out a decent amount. I keep laughing at the serious tone I wrote it in because it is fun to think about what a moving plant would do in a day. Anyways here it is, its nothing too great but I still had fun doing it. Tales of the Forest Rising One The last lights in the forest were eclipsed by a woeful twilight, the night had begun its rise. The undergrowth was riddled with shrubs of various sorts. Ferns, thistle, ivies, mushrooms, and twigs and even fronds litter the earthen soil. But some of these articles of shrubbery were of a more fantastical ilk. Some were gods themselves. And as I sat alone among my brethren, I pondered my existence. The foliage above me began to give way to the balmy morning daylight. The chatter of birds could be heard ubiquitously throughout the forest, the odoriferous smell of fertile soil clashed with the stench that always rode upon the wind from the west, the pungent scent of charred wood. The backwoods were once there, beyond what was once a stream. But there was a treachery within our oaken nation, and it was the forest, those of the Gnarlwood who paid the price. Today is a day of reckoning the thought occurred to me from a place foreign to me, but I was not perturbed, this was something I was used to. Creatures of the forest often ended up passing on their thoughts to one another, those without strong minds relying on the bonds nature creates to create a network of intellectual power. Also the primary Gnarlfolk, the trees, were known for their clairvoyance and divine interpretation. I shall go the river I thought, and it seems I was set on this for I began to stir for the first time in months. Atop my back I heard three young birds cry out, and I realized that at some point a bird must have settled atop my back. Getting up I began to raise myself from the earth, pulling my roots, which are more accurately wooden cirrus of twisted tendrils. Moss and small ferns had begun to grow upon the soil that had found its way onto my back during my contemplations, but so was the way of nature. Stretching slowly as not to fall, I stood, bits of soil falling from the bracken that makes up my lower body. Beginning at a slow walk, more of a hobble, I moved to a low lying tree nearby where I propped upon my hind legs and slid the nest upon a branch take them out of harm’s way, hopefully their mother would not be angry with me when she returned. As I began my trod to the river my limbs began to understand what it was to move again. The muscles slowly falling into a more rhythmic motion as they went, at least, as rhythmic as a forest frond could, and I achieved something of an amble. Now ambling towards the river, I came across something that reminded me of my deepest wonderings. I saw another forest frond beneath a great tree, and it was just like me. Except, it did not have the gift of conscious movement, or serious thought. Sure he was a part of the forests magnificent network, but he could not contribute for he could not learn of the world outside of his immediate vision. And so I contemplated sitting in the soil and pondering for many more months, for I am a ponderous being, when the earlier thought recurred, today is a day of reckoning. So I stomped one of my feet into the soil, a greeting among those who can, and I thought I will bring you water one day. The wind seemed to rise, and a leaf turned, this made me think he heard me, and I carried upon my path. I was now approaching the river, and the smell of charred wood was ever stronger. The undergrowth here had thickened considerably, and the trees ever bulkier, as if the will and love of the forest had grown them strong as a line of defense against the past, and perhaps the future. So as I trod through the thickets and thorns, I came upon the sloped waterfront. A grassy hill upon one side leads down to a gravelly beach, a great river, once no more than a stream lies beyond, wide and endlessly deep, yet clear enough you can see the bottom. The massive river carved itself out of the earth over the years, water running rapidly from the mountains to the north, as if nature was trying to maintain a balance and sever off the past. I began to amble down the hillside when I tripped upon an outlying root, and began to roll down onto the shore. It was quiet, but there was an ominous presence in the air beyond the norm. Upriver to the north I heard elves working on the fishing docks, perhaps trying to catch salmon for it was early for anything else to appear. I walked into the shallow water and reached a precipice, the water suddenly dropped the height of a tall tree. Bracing myself, I extend my limbs and begin to descend to the bottom.
