01. A Friend of the Forest

A Friend of the Forest

We begin our story in the moments before dawn, on the edge of the forest where the wilds meet civilization. To a stranger, it could be impossible to tell where the Forest of Solyr ends and the homes of  Embryveil begin. Closer to any of the Groves of the town, where the homes are a little more ornately kept, it is a simple task. However, on the edges of the city, with the lights in the nearby homes still snuffed out in the blueish darkness of dawn, the shift is far more subtle. 

The morning is crisp and quiet, but the warmth of the late summer can already be felt in the air as the sun begins its slow rise in the distance. 

Deeper in the forest, past the northernmost neighborhood of Burrow Grove, an older Firbolg woman named Noori Cypress meanders slowly through the foliage. 

Tall, in the way all Firbolgs are, Noori moves in the darkness with a quiet whispering of cloth and, oddly, an occasional soft clinking. She moves through the trees as though she were an old friend of the forest. Her path is winding and leisurely, but purposeful, her feet following her own particular path through the forest, invisible to any other. Stray rays of early dawn light catch across her soft, dove-gray fur as she crosses through a small meadow. Her beautiful, bright amber eyes are surrounded by laugh lines and white sunspots that speckle her fawn’s nose, neck, and shoulders. Her long, silver-white hair is woven into a thick braid that thumps gently against her back with every slow step. Age stoops her round shoulders, bringing her regal head to rest at only six-and-a-half feet from the ground–quite short for a Firbolg. Perched atop her head is a freshly made floral wreath; it rings her small horns and is held steady by her long, drooping ears.

A long, sky-blue gingham cloth is tied around her waist, the soft fabric hugging her generous hips and a dark, leather belt secures the fabric in place. Dug into the leather of the belt are many tiny hooks. Pouches hang from the hooks, some full to brimming and others flat and awaiting their own task of holding. A large, wide-mouthed canteen and a small teapot sway gently as she moves, creating those soft clinking noises ringing in the forest. 

The old woman comes to a slow stop and kneels down in front of a fallen log. The tree that it had once been was gone; the long fallen husk of its trunk now gives life to many new things. Mushrooms sprout bright, healthy, and strong in the carcass of the felled tree. The Firbolg woman smiles and pats the log fondly. “Thank you old friend!” she says cheerily. “You were such a good host to these mushroom guests.”

She pulls the canteen off of her hip and unscrews the lid, beginning to gently harvest the mushrooms from their log home. 

“I knew you’d be happy here, little friends,” she tells the mushrooms, her voice bright, though a little airy in the way all beings get as they age. ”So much good food and damp for you!” The hum of her words was almost song-like. 

Noori always speaks to the living things she interacts with. They have a language of their own that she does not quite understand, but she knows that they can understand her. And, it is only good manners to speak to a forest that provides so much for her and the ones she loves. She continues to give praise and thanks to the forest as she goes about her gathering.

Once the log is bare of her little, capped friends, she stands and rolls it over just a bit to make room for new life to sprout as it is able. She gives the log one last fond pat before continuing on her way. Noori moves through the woods unhurriedly, wanting to savor this most loved time of day. She feels most at home here, during the time when the night meets the day and the canopy of trees holds in the cool of the night just a bit longer. She can easily find peace here, with her small knife and canteen in hand, scrapping and collecting things from the forest. 

In the lessening dark of the morning, the old Firbolg gathers bark from trees, greets insects and small forest creatures, and unhurriedly searches for fruits and herbs for teas. She comes across a patch of daisies that had not yet bloomed the last morning she had visited. She falls to her knees once more, just at the edge of the patch so as not to crush any of the blossoms and whispers to them how beautiful they are. She studies them carefully, being sure to only choose the oldest blooms to pluck, leaving the younger ones to live off the land a little longer. 

Noori gathers her selected flowers in a soft, furred hand and reaches into one of her pouches for a piece of twine, tying the stems together. She secures the bundle upside down to one of the hooks on the right side of her belt, where she keeps all of her pretty things. She settles the blossoms with a soft pat, unsure just yet who they are for, but certain she will know when she's found the person who needs them. 

A little farther down her invisible path she finds elderflowers which she knows will be an excellent addition to a tea she had been creating to aid during the sick season. Just near that natural bouquet there is a little patch of nettle. She smiles and for the first time that morning moves just a touch faster with excitement as she pulls a leather pouch off of her hip. She carefully harvests the nettle into the pouch before hooking it back on her left hip, where she keeps her useful things.

Soon the sun begins to rise in earnest and the warmth of the day starts to bleed into the air, heating her cool fur. As the blue-gray air begins taking on red, she decides it is time to head back to her shop in town. Noori stands and thanks the nettle bush for its gift before setting a path towards home. She intends to open her shop at the same time she typically does, just an hour or two after dawn; however she does not expect anyone to be in need of her wares so early today. 

Art by Psalms and Psychoses

Despite her moseying gait, Noori comes to the edge of the forest rather quickly. She barely takes note of the change from simple trees to homes or the grass at her feet shifting into a beaten path, so used to it after years of this routine. However, as she continues to make her way south, cutting through the wooded homes of Burrow Grove and skirting the edges of Little Hollow Grove, the shift is more dramatic. Near the base of trees, short, gnarled branches protrude from trunks to form handles on doors. Through knot-hole windows Noori can see colorful curtains and painted walls, and there are neatly kept gardens strategically placed between roots. These are the homes of Embryveil. Each Grove has its own look and feel, but in every one, the trees are home. 

Sometimes, when given more time, Noori would wander the different Groves to see all the homes, but today she is trying for the straightest path she can manage to River Grove, where her shop sits.

When she finally enters River Grove from the northside, she abandons the small paths and back roads she has been taking and gets onto the main road toward the riverside. As the river comes into view, Noori is struck with the beauty of it.

The sun, now fully in charge of the color of the sky, glints like gold against the water of the Sunmead River. A smile creases Noori's cheeks, activating the pockets of joy in her wrinkles. She takes a short detour to the lower banks of River Grove, just wanting to be near the water for a moment. She can still remember the first time she saw these waters so long ago, and their beauty had not diminished even a little. She allows herself a moment in the quiet to breathe in the day. She might like the twilight before dawn best for foraging, but little could beat the light of the morning sun dancing on the river. 

A sound at her side catches her attention, and when she turns she spies three frogs resting on the dark, wet sand, the early morning light glinting off of the slick skin of their backs. 

“Hello, good morning!” She greets the creatures, voice louder now than when she was in the darkened forest, but still soft and airy. Noori folds her body down in a loose crouch to be nearer to the frogs. “I can already tell it is going to be such a lovely day. Can you feel the warm in the air?” A few of the frogs croak in response and Noori smiles. “Sweet little frogs friends,” she says in a soft tone before reaching down and gently bopping each on their small chin. “Wake up! Start the day!”

The three creatures blink up their bulbous eyes at her for a moment before two of them give a small stretch and hop into the water. The smallest of the group seems to be a little bit of a grump and does not hop in after its friends. Noori imagines if she could understand its language it would have been complaining like a young child, whining that it is a holiday and it wanted to sleep in. The thought makes Noori laugh, the sound warm, full, and strong as it rolls across the river carrying the sound of joy downstream, to the still-rising sun. 

“No no no,” she says to the stubborn creature. “We must wake up. It will be a happy festival but it is better for you to see it from the river. There will be too much foot-traffic here.” 

With another gentle tap on the chin and a stronger push on the bum, the frog slides into the cool waters of the Sunmead River. Noori washes her hands in the river water before standing up. She also has much that she wants to do today as it is the first day of the Firefly Festival.

She turns to walk up the inclining main road. Most of the shops of River Grove sit on this road, so it was the widest and busiest in the entire Grove. On one side of the road, the Sunmead river falls away as the bank rises sharply, creating a small cliff face. Parallel to the river stands giant trees, the same kinds that Noori had harvested bark from just an hour or two before, the difference being that there are windows and signage and stories marking these trees as lived in.

Noori Cypress

Nestled among these riverside shops, near the very top of the incline, is a massive tree. As one draws nearer, it becomes obvious that it is not one, but two oaks that have grown together over a millennia. The giant trunks press into each other like lovers refusing to part until, finally, thirty feet in the air, they manage to become one. Branches riot joyously in the air and the roots snake wildly through the earth, wrapping and entangling each other. Some of the roots bump out in front of the gigantic tree,  breaking the ground like waves in the sea and creating natural seating areas in front of the dual oaks.

A door is formed in each of the trunks, and behind each door is a different shop. On the left is a small bookstore called The Book Nook by the Brook. On the right is a tea shop called the Pot and Pestle. 

This is where Noori goes to start her day.

{Part 2: New in Town}