“You are yourself, of course,” said the trees, disregarding Seed’s growing alarm. He turned around and around, trying to grasp at himself. He rubbed the wood of his legs together, and found they scraped together, sending a vivid splash of feeling up and down there. It didn’t feel like flesh, but it felt. His ears pinned back and his lips pursed, trying to work out the puzzle behind the sensation he had in the wooden parts of him.
“Perhaps more so…” “More so.” “More so.” “To see the base of your being so… Pleased us.” “Pleased.” “Please!”

Seed took a wary step back. The last time he’d gone half-tree – well, it’d been different, for one – it had been the tree’s intent to turn him back. It took him a moment to realize that in a forest, there was really no way to step back from the trees – even in the pond in front of him, a tree merrily poked its long, slender trunk out through the water’s surface. He supposed it thought itself a cypress.
“…Don’t get any ideas…I…I like being a deer.” Yes. To thank the people who had helped him…To live his life as he had been living it for years now. That was what he wanted. “I won’t let you.”

“We know.” “We know.” The trees mumbled, sadly. “…We considered.” One little voice admitted, a lone tree in a forest where the wind had gone dead through the leaves.

“…I may have been too harsh, there. I suppose… If you really wanted me to not return to being a deer, you’d have taken advantage of me.“ He did not remember what it had been like, very well, now. It seemed dreamlike and hazy… Not unlike his initial memories of being a tree, when he was growing up. It seemed like something you could push completely out of mind, if you wanted to. But he did recall that if someone had wanted to take him over, to claim him for the collective, to bend his mind to them and make him forget he had ever been Seed, it would not have required any meaningful effort; his mind had had no defense.

He gave his reflection another eyeful. While it was a little disorienting, suddenly being different, he had to admit, it didn’t feel unpleasant. And it didn’t feel alien – if he hadn’t seen himself in the water, he might have gone some time without even being fully aware of it. It was that natural. Except…
“…What’s this mossy patch?”
“The horn went entirely through your body. There was a hole there.” Seed’s eyes bugged.
“…I…did not recall that.”
“This makes sense. You were quite distracted. “What with all the dying you were doing.”
“This was our aide in your repair efforts, to patch the exit hole.”
Several ideas about what the area under might look at, what ‘patching’ might mean.
“Yes, well…Could I…Look under there?”
“Yes.””Yes.””Yes.”
“…Do I want to?”
There was a long silence.
“This depends. Are you interested in seeing your spinal cord?”
“…That’s a no.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m quite sure, yes, thank you. I’d like to pretend I never gave rise to that thought, please.”
“Because we are sure it would look interesting, and only sting a bit.”
Seed pinned his ears back harder.
“I never gave rise to that thought, thank you!”
“But –“
“Never.” Seed shuddered, trying to dislodge the mental image of his own spine. Wait, did that mean that parts of it were – no, he decided. He was not going to think about it. This was him not thinking about it.

“Now, sugar…Let’s get back to the matter at branch. You can’t go back, you know that.” The oak declared. ”There was barely enough of you the first time.”
“…What else can I do?” Seed shook his head slowly. He could only live here; here, where the magic was so thick you breathed it in like golden dust; here, where the trees whispered and told stories; here, where the waving willow branches spoke of his first love, and the deep river-water of his daughter; here, where the loam was molded soft by his own hoofbeats, collected by the years. Here, where those he loved were waiting for him, and some part of them would always be waiting for him here, even after the end of the world.
“You can leave.” “You can.” “You can.” The trees hesitated, and one last little echo rang, ”Leave.”
The world tumbled out from under Seed’s hooves when they said that. It felt like everything froze, and not even a frog was croaking by the pond, or a bird chirping in a tree. There was nothing except…That he could leave.
”We have decided on a way.”

”Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
”We needed you to be a hero. You could not be. We no longer need you.” The trees admitted. Their honesty was like antler tines in his spine.
”We didn’t really have a plan for that until…after, to be honest,” the Old Oak corrected, her voice smoothing things over, in some desperate attempt to turn the waves of Seed’s mind back into a smooth, glass-like water’s surface. ”But when it seemed like you’d survive.

They…They had lied to him because they needed him? They could be honest only because he was useless? Seed felt that bitterness welling in his throat. It turned the air chill and bit at his new little leaves. They trembled and shook. He knew better than to blame the trees…But Seed often knew things he didn’t really [i]know, emotionally-speaking.

”All we need to do,” the trees sang, ”Is find someone else’s portal out. Some other trip to another world – there are many of them.” The trees chattered, losing themselves in the tangent.

“Whose? I don’t know that many active portal-makers.” Queze was prone to coming and going to some other world, where he was some other creature. Toukan, he knew, knew a portal-maker, and Scape had come from another world, once, and went back from time to time. But beyond that… There were so many new names and faces, things he didn’t know.

”They’re…After your time.” The trees shrugged. ”Does it matter, who you know and who you don’t? The world of Deer-things has moved on.”

Seed did not say anything for a moment. The opportunity to leave had a thrilling taste – it made his heart pound. To go to a place where there were other poets, or other people who loved old stories like he did, to a place where he was not the old guard. Somewhere with a new start. He’d….Always wanted it, a little. Just to visit.
”Follow us. Follow, follow. Away from your grave, little Seedling. Follow, follow.”

The trees waved their branches at him, beckoning him away from his world of ever-expanding, ever-imprisoning woods. Away from his life in the world of golden air, from the same deathless lotus in the same deathless pond, chased in infinity by the same deathless koi.

Away from the golden light that had filled him, gifts from something like heaven, and gave his life meaning.

”…No, I think I’ll pass for now.” he declared, in a soft little voice. He felt like he was being foolish.
”What.” “What?” “Whhaaaaattt?”
“Do you want to die again, dear?” Asked the Old Oak, her voice harsh.

”No, not at all. But…I don’t think I will, either. You’re right. You needed me to be a hero, and I’m not. I’m no hero. I’m no warrior… But… They need me, and they need me to be Seed. I can’t let them down.” Seed smiled honestly. He didn’t mind feeling foolish, with the golden glow the deer of the forest had given him filling up his shoulders.

”Don’t! Don’t do it” “Does this hard-earned life of yours mean nothing?” “Do all the feelings you’ve not expressed mean nothing?” “Stop!”
Because it all meant something, this was why he had to do it. He turned, and walked out towards the shadowy edges, where the air rose in blackened clouds of smoke. As he went, he marked trees with his new, leafy branch-antlers. If they winced in pain, he ignored them.

”Please….Little Brother?”

The forest hasn’t moved past me…I’m not useless… He repeated it in his head. What sort of mantra it was, who he was trying to convince…He didn’t know just yet. The trees trembled and shook in rage. The buts, the questions, the pleading fell around him, and he slid through it all, untouchable as a phantom. He was Seed; that meant, in the end, he could only do it in Seed’s way.


((Man, it's good to be back to this! And close to the end, too. Sorry for the delay, folks, but we're gettin' her done!))