The Tree

To balance their world, they must dread its destruction.

They are standing at the center of a clearing before an old ash tree that glows with knowledge beneath grooved grey bark. They flinch as a cool breeze brushes their cheek — their eyes dart around at the picturesque setting, filling with loathing and desperation as they flick over the tree, away, back to the tree again. 

Their fingers twitch as they raise them; they take a short breath before touching them to the ash’s bark.

It isn’t seconds before they jolt back, having seen too much in too little time. Their hand trembles violently, and their breath is staggered, harsh, coming in such painful gasps that they must sink to their knees to calm it. They shake their head slowly, then almost frantically, refusing to believe even as their eyes pool with tears for what they know will come. Their face drops into still-shaking hands; they don’t seem to realize the first tear has slipped down their face until it drips from the point of their nose, and then they are sobbing, shoulders shaking with the sheer force of their mourning.

Their whole body is trembling when they finally raise their face from their palms; with the air of someone far older than themself, they plant their fingers on the ground below them and push to their feet. With a sense of finality, they glance around the clearing they stand in, this one location never to be devastated by humanity. Tears shine on their face.

They turn around.

For this year, they have paid their dues. They have taken on the knowledge of the old ash; they understand the little they will attempt cannot save their world. 

They understand that the true path to balance — to restoring the forests and frigid icecaps and glittering oceans — requires power they do not, cannot have for them to continue to keep the balance.

But they love this world so strongly, so fiercely, with a tenacity similar to the trees around them, that they cannot help but fight.