Her sproutling.
That is what she had always called him from the day he came into this world.
A beautiful color she had said.
So many hues of green.
If he wasn’t wearing his mask, you would never find him.
Always mimicking his brother shrubs.
Always playing.
Always blending.
Always happy.
Never an ounce of sadness on his delicate little face.
As long as she was there, no pain could ever find him.

But happiness never lasts.
It can not be forever.
Can not outlive the whims of the gods.

And so, on a cold unnatural night, we say goodbye to the one who brought him here.
To the one who gave him life.
Gave him reason to live.

Slowly, his colors began to grey.
His mask; it cracked.
His heart; it shattered.
All seemed worthless.
All seemed lost.

Days turned frosted.
Nights became bitter with the stench of nothingness.
And by the end of a long journey, unremembered and uncared for, far to thin legs carried a withering frame to a land anew.

As he stood there atop the tallest hill, looking out at this wide landscape soon to be his dwelling ground, he felt nothing.
No joy of a new beginning.
Nothing.

But then, a voice.
A soft melodious voice whistling through the trees.
A voice that brought back his hope, his color, his spark!

This willow wisp!
It was her!

She had found him at last.

She came to him.
Brushing his face with a gentle breeze.
Calling from the forest.
Willing him to rise and be her precise sproutling once again.

'Come', she said, 'Come back to the land.'
'Feel how the plantlings have been lost without you.'
'How they too have felt your pain; unable to comfort their brother in his time
mourning.'

He felt. He heard. He welcomed all.
He stood there, hooves planted firmly in the soil beneath him.
Looking out across a land now seen through eyes unclouded by despair.

His brothers and sisters all looked on in awe at his now vibrant malachite hide.
His tribal mask glowing brilliantly in the heaven sent beams.
His markings restored to their most majestic moment.
He was revived.
He was reborn.
He was healed.

Again came the underlying hum of a voice in the breeze.
Her words clearer to him for the first time.
He closed his eyes.
He listened.
She spoke.

'Welcome home my sproutling.'
'Welcome home, Edmund the Green.'



**
**
** I know, melodramatic and pathetic, but twas fun to write. I hope it goes with what you had in mind Baal. ^_^ **