The fruit of her tree

Fergus, the young bard sits against the gnarled roots, enveloped by the tree. Pen in hand, touching the paper though motionless, his eye-lids begin to feel heavey. cradeled within the grooves of the wood, Fergus closes his eye, He breathes in the warm moist air, gently filling his lungs while sitting poised for inspiration.

The trees creak and sway as though they were lazily streatching and yawning in the heat. Rays of sunlight seep through the thick leafy canopy and dance to the rhythm of the trees as the the breeze moves them. As Fergus enjoys the calm he allows sleep to overcome his desire to write.

In a nearby clearing, the earth moves. The dark brown dirt shifts lightly from pressure underneath. A greeen sprout rises towards the light; the bright green quickly darkens as a slender trunk forms. From the trunk two svelte arms grow. As the trunk thickens it splits into two legs. Finally from the wood, a face appears.

Fergus begins to stir from his nap as he hears a soft creaking accompanied by quiet, deep footfalls. The sound soothes him; The heavey yet hushed steps approach him. Cautiously slowlt Fergus opens his eyes.

Startled, although not sacred he gazes up at the woman before him: she is perfectly formed of plant matter. the slender sappling woman looms over the awestruck poet. Her leaves sway ever so slightly in the hint of a breeze.

she stretches a branch-arm out to Furgus, and holds it steadily in front of him. Fergus, controls his anxious breathing, unsure of what it is he is antisapating.

the tree woman stares deeply into Fergus’ eyes; Her eyes are the colour of deep rich soil. her hand hovers close enough to his face that Fergus can smell the subtle aroma of her leaves.

While mesmerised by her eyes Fergus hears a soft crackign sound. He looks back at her hand and sees something sprouting from her index finger; A small yellow blossom grows at an accelerated rate. The flower dies quickly, revieling a golden fruit which matures before Fergus’s eyes.

Instintively Fergus reaches for the fruit. The soft skin in his palm gives him a ravonus urge. Mercilesssly Fergus devours the fruit.

The exotic juices tease his tounge; Fergus feels his body sinking, merging with the dirt. He tries to brace his torso against the treee only to find his fleash meeting the fiberous core of the trunk.

As Fergus swallows his body solidifies but in his haste to eat he in unable to appreciate the sensation.

Again and again he bites, almost over-filling his mouth. Fergus swallows hard, forcing the pulp down his throat.

Looking at the fruit’s core, Fergus feels empty and uncertain. His gaze shifts to the tree woman and instantly her dark eyes comfort him. she takes the core from his hand.

The sound of the wind hitting her leaves whispers the word “sleep”.

Fergus wakes and wipes away the dirt encrusted spitle from his cheek. He looks around the ground, finds his paper but instead of his nib, Fergus finds a sticvk, thin and tacky from freash sap with a small golden fruit attached to the end.

-Bindi Lavelle

The fruit of her tree


Joined October 2007

  • Artist

Artist's Description

A short fantasy story

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