The Index
Chapter 6: In Which Community Aid Is Called For

Seed's Story, Chapter 7: In Which The Story Concludes

Seed listened. As he wandered through the trees, he saw things, flickering at the edge of his vision – a heart hanging from a tree branch, hoofprints in the invisible ground. And voices – not the voices of the trees, but whispers that were carried on a substance sweeter and finer than air.

“You were the joyful reason…” “From a seed to a tree; a fawn to a stag..” “And now I dun' have mom and dad, I need you,” they whispered, they entreated, trickling in at first like a light summer shower.

He turned away from the trees he was looking at and went to look over another section. But something in this riddle wasn’t right.

“…and I hope to know you well enough one day to call you a friend.” "Where are you, Seed?" “I can't even imagine a forest without him." “He creates life as if he was a god himself! Not real life, I mean.. it's in my mind.” These trees, thin and dull, the flowers mere flowers, the bark mere bark – it kept out the rain and insects. It didn’t shield friends or hide a heart. He looked away – he had an idea…

“Seed eyes see lots what others can’t,” the voices said. They felt like strong touches, like a pressing wind that guided him down a single path. “I k-k-know you as a w-wonderfull p-poet, a t-t-talented stag.." “Oh but only a day ago we had relished in one anothers company. Games of tag, and chasing giant hares,” they pushed him onwards; they would not let him retreat. And as he walked with the wind, each step in the infinity became a little easier. "-just between you and I, it was me who felt a great honour.”

He looked out at all the trees, fading into the distance, so far that he could almost imagine he saw himself – a closed infinity, a perfect loop, and yet… There were things he was almost certain of. The realization that the wind guided him to.

“Brother.”

His eyes widened, the light of his name catching the wet tears hanging in them. Yes, the answer was what it always was… But what if he were wrong? What if he failed them all then, at the last moment? He knew that would be the real punishment of failing, knowing that they were waiting and he hadn’t been sure enough.

“You are-... t-the one who means a world to me,”

whispered a voice that caressed his face. He smiled and turned back, to face the voices of the trees and the smirking eyes of the gods.

“I have the answer,” He proclaimed. His smile shifted from triumphant cockiness to a deep serenity as he heard the trees mutter their panic.

“Well, then, what is it?” the Red God asked. “Where are you, other than exactly where you’re standing?” the Gold One asked.

“Right there,” He looked up, between his antlers. He could feel the trees trying to figure out what he was looking at.

“He’s mad.” “Mad.” “Mad!”

“No I’m not. Don’t you know what this light is?” Seed asked, with a gentle tilt of his head, causing his name to sway with him.

“…Very pretty?” “Pretty.” “Very.” The trees muttered skeptically.

“It’s my name – it’s my heart, given form, written in the language of the Endless Forest, the language the Twin Gods used to make this world. The people I’m returning to – my family – they’re the people who know what it means, not you! Not even me. I want…” If the grin could have gotten bigger, it would have – instead, his name just grew brighter, wrapping him up in its golden glow. The glow restored him, pushing away all illusion. “I want to spend the rest of my life learning the meanings they have to teach me.”

“That is no answer to the challenge!” the Trees roared. “No Answer!” “No Answer!” “…That is… answer to the challenge,” muttered a little echo, on the edge of the collective.

“I’ve answered.” Seed said, still warmed by the wind of voices around him, still lit from the inside by the glow of his name – his inscrutable, singular name.

“And that answer…” Intoned the Red God.

“….Is correct,” said the Gold God with a smile.

“But that’s not fair!” The Trees whined. “We wanted to know!” “To know!” “To Know!” “We only wanted…” The echoes filled the void, whispering sadly to each other.

But around Seed, the void already was fading, replacing itself with familiar territory – the top of the hill with two white statues, smiling at him, bathed by the sun. Here and there a bright green leaf fell, caught like dust motes in the shining morning sunlight. He looked down at the forest that stretched before him.

Nevilly was already running up the hill to meet him, tears in her eyes – and down at the lake, he could see Scape waking up as slowly as he always did. Somewhere in the distance, Virgil and Dag were playing. He shook away the last tear from his eyes and went down to meet them. His family.

As he was going, he could swear he heard the statues whisper,
“Welcome home.”



Some time later, he stood before the Oak and asked her,

“Why did they do all this?”

“Sugar…they just wanted to know what it’s like. What the courage to do make the request they could have never made is like – they just wanted to be able to imagine…” The Oak found she couldn’t quite explain herself to him – not the way he was looking at her. His expression was very still, withholding judgment. Then he looked down, almost very sad.

“To let you imagine… That’s what poets are for, isn’t it?” He asked. She could offer him no answer – just the silence of his own mind. He then smiled gently and walked away from her. She heard him mutter, “Yes, that is exactly what poets are for.”



He made his way to an isolated patch of flowers, away from all the major landmarks. No deer was around here today – which made it the perfect place.

“I couldn’t stay, you know. I have a life here…but… I have a duty – I was a part of you, once. I understand that. Like how this world is a part of me now…”

The Trees were silent, but he could feel them glaring.

“But…I have two years of diary entries and poems saved up…So…If you really want to know, I thought…that this would be a good start.”
The sound of distant water filled the air for a moment. It mingled with the bright songs of birds – but not the rustling of trees. Then, at last…

“Please,” They whispered, in perfect unison. They sounded like a fawn – like one of his nieces or nephews when they had been little. He almost laughed, but held it back.

“OK, then…

The Diary of Seed, 2-17-08… ‘I cannot begin to really describe yesterday, the day I came into this marvelous and rather strange and silly world, but today, today maybe I can begin...’”

The End

((I first off have to thank every last one of you – everyone who commented, everyone who read, and especially the people who commented on the last chapter and thus made this ending possible; I never expected such a positive reaction to all of this. From the bottom of my heart, thank you – you made this story a joy to write, like all of Seed’s poetry and diary entries over the years, like every moment in the forest. Thank you all… Oh, and don’t worry if that sounds like I’m leaving; I just wanted to do that while I had the opportunity. Next up is adding in commentary to the index, explaining my ideas behind the story, the high points, and so on. Then, who knows? Maybe I’ll do illustatrations for it. The sky’s the limit. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little tale of a deer’s homecoming.))