Peachblossom wasn't the smartest dryad in the grove--and Hazelseed and Willowbud made sure she knew it. She didn't try to be stupid, but she just couldn't help it. She knew she shouldn't trust humans. She really did. But in the moment, it was so hard to remember, and when she found that wounded human gored half to death by a wild hog, was it really so terrible to heal him and let him go? Surely it couldn't be such a catastrophic mistake that the whole rest of the grove had to shunt her off while they circled to talk about what to do with her.
Peachblossom was sitting on a mosseaten log, dangling her bare feet in the creek, crying tears of sticky nectar. Everything that came out of her was always so sticky and sweet, like the fruit of the peach tree she'd been born from. Sometimes Hazelseed would pin her down so Willowbud could milk her into some desert they were baking. Peachblossom hated how much of a sticky mess it made, and she always tried to run away--but her hips were too wide to run without swaying, and they always caught her.
The worst part by far was how it made Peachblossom feel. They would laugh while she wriggled and writhed, and then Peachblossom would gasp and roll up her eyes in whimpering pleasure as Willowbud skillfully cajoled the sweet milk out of her with a heavy splurt, and Hazelseed would explode with sharp laughter. When they were done with her, they would take their desert and leave Peachblossom trembling and leaking out sticky nectar into the moss.
"...should just sell her off to the humans," Willowbud was saying. Peachblossom stiffled her tears to listen in terror. Willowbud had to be joking. She had to be.
Pineneedle sighed. "You know we can't do that, no matter what she's done. She is one of us, and we can't submit one of our own to that horror. You haven't seen what they do to us, Willowbud. They break us."
Peachblossom heard faint muttering amongst the older dryads in the Grove. Peachblossom, Willowbud, and Hazelseed were the only dryads the grove had sprouted since the humans set their great forest fire sixty winters ago, and there hadn't been a single successful sprouting since Peachblossom's forty winters back. She may have been stupid, but even Peachblossom could see that the grove was fading.
"Anyways, would they even take her?" Hazelseed said.
"Oh they would take her," Pineneedle said.
Peachblossom pinned a hand over her mouth and whined. She thought of running away, just bolting into the thick brush, but where would she go?
"Are you sure she really is one of us?" Willowbud said. "She can't even wildshape, not even into a deer. I could turn into a deer before I'd seen ten winters, and she's seen forty! Maybe she really is a human after all; their women look like us, don't they? If all wrinkled and gray and sagging and dull?"
Oh great mother, what if I am?
Pineneedle laughed, the sound so gentle and loving when it was directed at Willowbud. That laughter pricked with sour distaste whenever it was aimed at Peachblossom instead. "You are showing your youth, darling," Pineneedle scolded indulgently. "She isn't one of them."
"But how can you be sure? If she let one of their hunters go, maybe it's because she wants them to find us. Because she knows she is one of them."
"You've never seen a human woman, but if you do, you would understand that no one could ever mistake one of them for one of us, and especially not Peachblossom. Her hair alone would give her away: no human woman has hair pink as a flowering peach tree."
My hair proves I'm one of them? Peachblossom ran her fingers through her long pink hair, marvelling at the vibrant color that she so regularly despised. Her hair always betrayed her whenever she tried to hide from Willowbud and Hazelseed. It was bright and flowering, the color flaring out to the world to reveal where she was--but if it was also flaring out that she belonged, then wasn't it worth the revealing color?
Oakroot spoke up, her voice steady as roots of iron. "But she could have her hair up and hidden, and you'd still know what she was just from the shape of her. No human has a rear like a peach, and none of their women have breasts like that--Great Mother, you and Hazelseed spend so much time playing with her breasts that you should know none of us even have breasts like that."
"Her breasts are the one good thing about her," Hazelseed said. "At least she tastes good."
"Maybe the humans would just use her for baking, the way we do." Willowbud laughed. "She likes it."
I don't like it! But no matter how hard she protested, Peachblossom still felt her breasts ache and flood with pressure at the thought until her nipples went hard against her thin dress of leaves. Her breasts expanded with nectar until the weight crushing her chest made it a challenge to breathe more than a quick trembling pant.
Peachblossom pinned a hand over her mouth and whined as quietly as she could. She clenched her knees tight together and focused on the cold creek water trickling over her toes.
"We aren't going to sell her to them," Pineneedle said. "They break us, Willowbud. It's brutal. She might be a fool, but, well..." Pineneedle sighed. "She's our fool."
"So what do we do with her?" Willowbud asked. "She endangered the whole grove. That hunter could be gathering up men and coming out here with fire and nets and arrows, all because of her. She knew what the rules were, and she let him go anyways. She can't just get off without a punishment."
"Peachblossom means well," Oakroot said. Oakroot was the only one that ever stood up for her. "She's just too innocent. She is still so young..."
"We have told her, Oakroot, and she isn't innocent--she's just a fool." Pineneedle said. "Willowbud is right. This is far beyond any of her usual foolishness, and she will be punished."
"Can I do it?" Willowbud asked eagerly.
A sigh from Pineneedle. "Maybe, Darling, maybe. Once we decide what it'll be."
Peachblossom started rocking in embarassed panic. They'd never let Willowbud punish her before. There was always someone there to stop Willowbud and Hazelseed if they went too far. But if the rest of the grove was going to stand aside, it could get terrible.
"Is that wise, Pineneedle?" Oakroot said. "You know how they terrorize the poor child."
"She's not a child, Oakroot: she just acts like one," Pineneedle said.
Just before her terror became too much to bear, a speckled fawn burst out of the bushes, then spotted Peachblossom and bolted clumsily over to her. Crying sticky tears as she ran her fingers through its fur, Peachblossom didn't see the straight piece of wood embedded in its side until she touched it and the fawn bleated in pain.
"Oh you poor thing!" Peachblossom whispered. "What happened to you?"
Peachblossom had always been a talented healer, and the animals of the forest always sought her out whenever they were hurt. They loved her, at least. She forcefully dragged her focus away from the increasingly frightening conversation, and focused on the wounded fawn.
When the Grove's conversation as indistinct as the babble of the creek at her feet, Peachblossom drew on the wild roots of the world and worked to ease the wood out. Now she was drawing on the wild-art, Peachblossom could feel the unnatural piece of metal embedded inside the poor fawn--how strange. The metal was so cold to the touch of her power that just grazing it with the threads of her weave numbed her, from her fingers to her elbow.
But even if Peachblossom couldn't touch it with the wild-art, she could weave her power into the fawn's flesh and help it shift to eject the oddly sharp leaf of metal at the end of this bizarre straight stick. The fawn bleated and nervously licked the sticky tears from Peachblossom's face as she tugged the stick free and wove the wound closed.
Then, in the strangest part of the whole strange experience, the fawn immediately turned and bolted away. The animals always stayed with her after she healed them, and they always relaxed as she worked. Even if there was a predator here with them, they knew they would be safe from any forest creatures for as long as they were with her.
But this fawn hadn't calmed down the whole time, and now it was gone. And it hadn't bolted back into the bushes where it had come from; it had bolted away. Like it was running from something.
Frowning, Peachblossom looked down at the bloody stick she'd just pulled out of its side.
It was straight. Straighter than any stick she'd ever seen. And it was long. Two and a half feet, making it fully half as tall as she was. Blood dripped from the odd iron leaf sprouting at one end, splashing against the cold trickling water of the creek. Peachblossom watched the droplet smear out as it passed over her pale toes.
That was a lot of blood. How had the fawn embedded this so deeply in itself?
And what plant was this stick even from? Peachblossom hadn't ever seen a stick like this. It had feathers on one side, like a bird. She turned it over, inspecting running her fingers over it. Goose feathers. But they hadn't been plucked from a goose in the wild, she could feel that in an instant--and it was so horrible that Peachblossom dropped the alien stick with a yelp the second she brushed her fingers across the feathers.
