Author's Note:
This story/series is primarily focused on futanari and non-human content. Enjoy. (If you're into that kind of thing.)
Chapter 1: The Woods
My name is Brynn. My story begins in the village of Thistlefield. On the edge of the village is a forest. It is an old, dark forest; legend has it that within it gloomy depths lurk all manner of strange creatures and ancient spirits. The residents of Thistlefield avoid "the woods," as they call them, as much as possible. When one of them does venture into the woods — which they rarely do, since there is nothing on the other side except for the great escarpment of the Banded Mountains, which separates the settled southern lands from the wild north — she always leaves an offering, usually a coin or a piece of cloth, as a toll for her safe passage. Anyone who fails to leave an offering, it is said, risks the wrath of the spirits, who, having been denied their rightful tribute, will exact their own payment from the unlucky traveler.
It was an encounter with one of these spirits, somewhere deep in the woods, that would forever alter the course of my life. I was nineteen. At the time, I was serving as an apprentice to the local herbalist, a wizened old woman named Orla who lived in a cottage on the edge of the village. I had been Orla's apprentice for six years. One more year of study was all I needed to complete my apprenticeship and become an herbalist in my own right; but fate or chance, whichever of those two great sovereigns of mortal affairs you happen to believe in, had something else in store for me.
It was a fine day in late spring. Orla had sent me out to collect a basket of starflower root, which she needed to treat Gildard, the village farrier, for what she would only describe as "a personal complaint."
Starflower is a small, low growing plant that produces a single starburst-shaped flower. It grows most commonly along shady, wooded stream banks, where its showy white flower can be easily spotted among the surrounding moss. Its roots, which are known to have soothing properties, are used to make ointments for the treatment of burns and other inflammations of the skin.
Upon entering the woods, I placed a copper coin on a fallen log as an offering to the forest spirits. The day was warm and mild, and the air was filled with the sound of buzzing insects. I wandered along the banks of a small stream, scanning the ground for any sign of the little white flowers. But as the morning wore on, I grew increasingly puzzled. Normally, starflower grows abundantly throughout the spring season, but today they were proving strangely elusive. Even though I'd already been out for several hours, I had yet to see a single one.
I was so focused on my task that I didn't notice that I was wandering deeper and deeper into the woods. The underbrush grew thicker as the forest closed in around me. Soon I found myself in a part of the woods I'd never seen before. The trees here were old and gnarled; thick curtains of moss hung from their branches. Barely any light penetrated the dense canopy, which made the forest feel even dimmer and gloomier than usual.
I was just about to give up and go home, when suddenly I noticed a strange blue light coming from a clearing up ahead. Curious, I walked towards it.
As I stepped into the clearing, I found myself surrounded by a large ring of trees. Their branches soared above me like the vault of a cathedral, interweaving with one another to form a dark, impenetrable ceiling. But despite the absence of sunlight, the entire scene was illuminated by a blue glow that seemed to be coming from the hundreds of little blue flowers that covered the ground. I knelt down and examined one. It was small, about the size of my thumb, and shaped like a bell. A flickering blue light, like the flame of a candle, played across its surface.
I stared at it, fascinated. It was unlike any flower I'd seen before. I have to show this to Orla, I thought. If anyone could tell me more about this strange flower, it would be her.
The moment I broke its stem, however, the mysterious blue light faded from its petals. I was disappointed, but I put the flower in my basket anyway. Suddenly, I heard a voice call out from somewhere behind me.
"What do you think you're doing?" said the voice.
Startled, I spun around. Standing before me, as if she had sprung up from the ground itself, was the strangest woman I'd ever seen. She was completely naked, save for the dozens of luminous blue flowers braided into her long black hair. Her face was that of a beautiful young woman, but her arms and legs were covered with smooth gray bark like the skin of a beech tree. Instead of nipples, each of her breasts was tipped with a small, pink flower, and above her crotch grew a triangle of soft green moss.
"I said, what do you think you're doing?" repeated the woman.
"W-who are you?" I stammered.
"Who am I?" the woman asked incredulously. "Who am I? You come into my grove, steal my flower, and you have the audacity to ask me who
I
am?"
"I'm sorry, I had no idea..."
"Ignorance is no excuse," said the woman sharply. "You took what wasn't yours to take, and now you must pay in kind."
"But I have nothing to offer," I said, fear rising in my throat.
"Don't worry," said the woman, "I have no use for gold and silks. A flower for a flower, that sounds like a fair trade, doesn't it?"
"A flower for a flower?" I asked. "How am I supposed—"
Before I had even finished my question, a pair of roots shot up from the ground and wrapped themselves around my ankles. With a quick tug, they jerked me off my feet, and I toppled to the soft forest floor. I kicked and writhed, trying to disentangle myself from their grip, but to no avail. The roots held me fast.
"What are you doing?" I screamed.
"Claiming what is rightfully mine," she said. More roots wrapped around my wrists, pinning them to my sides.
The woman knelt and undid the cord that girdled my tunic. Then she grabbed the collar with both hands and, with two quick jerks, ripped the front of my tunic completely in half.
"Lovely," she murmured as she fondled one of my now-exposed breasts. Her hand felt strange — smooth and hard, like polished wood. I tried to twist away from her, but there was no escaping the roots' grip.
"Let me go!"
The woman chuckled. Her hand moved between my legs. Fingertips stroked the inside of my thigh. She leaned in close. "You should have known better than to trespass in a dryad's glade," she whispered, her breath hot on my ear.
A dryad! Spirits of the forest, they were said to wreak terrible vengeance on anyone foolish enough to disturb their groves. I shivered.
