Seeds of Dolwood

[Bramble]

Mid Spring,
Era II of the Celestine Mandate, Era XIV Post Fractum,
Paradigm: Twelve New Constellations Discovered

Lo and behold the very might of the strong oaks, the pleasant scent of sweet cedar, and root under heavy foot, all in the expanse of the wide canopy of the arching emerald forest. The trees like masts catch winds, the dirt and ground; all too like an ocean sweeps things beneath. Things go by unchanged, seemingly similar, within a side of vision a forests accidental garden can hide many secrets under stone and bush. The world below reveals the worms that turn the soil. Whilst they live under the stones that guard the earth as sleeping sentries. With detailed Vision one could see the shrubs liken to little mobs that stick together in thick and thin, bearing fruit in some cases, but be it poison to the taste of man or otherwise is not their affair.
But just what is there to see after we have looked so close? Surely there is more.
Deep, deep, deeper into the woods, no deeper still... Where shadows and moss conspire for branch and limb conceal. There is something moving within these woods, the trees are alive!
One could never tell with silent slumber, an Treant sleeping, yes what a sight. The sound of bark rubbing to suit a snore.

the breath within,
the breath goes out.

Aged with time and few eras passed something weird upon the skin at closer look. Funky fungi some strange growth. twigs dangling like tough hair, and what tell of the birds that make nest over the noggin. Rooty stumps all to like feet are wide with many toes covering a touch of all underneath. And cascading upwards branches twist and shoot in all directions with many leafs catching subtle breezes. And a face stretched over a trunk that would make children cry. So long and dreary, so moldy and overcast. A tall nose wrinkled between to beady close-knit eyes that shimmer like dips of sap ember, and a mouth that yawns a large gape. Miniature trees and plant-life seems to grow off the back, a garden unto in itself. And his thin arms sang from his torso, pulling far into massive bulbous of forearms, and spindly fingers rang out from the oaken hands and all was in reach if one so cared. His skin olden foggy bark in-scripted in ages with blemish of moss, weaving of wrinkles, the unsightly decay of dead leaves matted the exterior.


But what to say of its name? An Ent beyond doubt, it would call itself Bramble.
A name to liken to his grumpy demeanor and stern face. And so of his race he was one of complaints and forlorn insight, a real fool how it ought to be and things just weren't as they used to be. But to say of him he was yet peaceful would be no understatement, and so he was humble to the forest he gave Shepard. He knew the saplings here best of all, he loved the young ones just growing to the light. Towering over them, he would tell of old stories of the strange beasts and animals which to inhabit this realm. He would scare them with cabbit stories, dazzle them with tales of wise unicorns. It was best they knew of it third hand for Bramble had seen none of these things. He was a lazy oaf who had just awoken not to long ago after very, very, very undeserved naps which took all too many Eras of dreams to account for.


He dreamed of adventure, to be a hero among his fellows. Simply the glory of a quest complete, putting his life and limb on the line for a greater good. Ah to be noble, to be of valor, to stand up under fire and keep cool. He could feeling the calling of it, the urge sent from the heavens even a divine calling. But as he would come to his senses about him; the dull feeling of his Oaken body and realize it was all a dream: he would grumble to himself he was too old and such whimsy was best left to young saps with nothing better to ponder. He tried his best whole life to stay out of trouble, mind the roses if you will. And any haphazard came his way he would neatly avoid. Trails by fire never fit such a wooden creature. Especially upon awakening one couldn't be bothered to throw ones life into danger. Why make haste of things when one could see how life was going so far? Besides why change when it's so easy for routine to take its course? No matter how lazy one got with routine there was always chores piling up.
Bramble made a careful review what his day would be like. Brooding incessantly over finding animal's mischief, namely the squirrels with bad habits moving nuts around and all that.
Thinking about the day's tasks ahead was always the first business. Restoring balance to an already perfect nature had it's up and downs, it's tilts and turns. Always something was to be had in the wanderings of a forest. And what to do about those damned nuts in odd places.

All this before he had even opened his eyes. His vision in old age focused more around the poriferal, gaining little from movement but more the solid placement of familiar objects in his woods. He could trace forever the things from his sides that had moved in the time he had been sleeping. He counted the differences with a mental math more concerned with shape, a type of geometry very personal to him; the rotation, a spacial genius, like a pattern of three dimensions rather than a flat perspective of what was before him. One eye blinked all to slowly for an eternity closing in a touch, forming a watery glisten in his amber pupil. He was fully conscious of it, getting the feeling of it he was familiar with. His habits had become so deep set they gave him overwhelming comfort. Bramble drew a deep breath then he shook, shedding still leaves that danced downward, playing with gravity as they twirled ever so slightly upward.
He watched them carefully land, and said his goodbyes looking up into the ancient tree canopy forking across sky. It was dusk, and the red hues of the fading sun blended to a glimmering purple before touching the first stars.

Huddled over himself where he sat with massive feet expanded before him, he put the pressure on his knees, just so much to get to his knees rather than rum. The strain made the sound of tipping timber cranking, surely any timid wildlife where fearing the worst. Once up, he stood for a bit pursing his lips and gumming the insides. His solid wooden brow lifted almost yawning as he looked down to his mess of a beard. It was covered in Lush new moss, tangle of twisted twigs, and mostly comprised of dirt covered leafs that told stories about his bathing habits.
He gave his the bread a stroke, clumping some in full hand, making small knots as he did so.
His thoughts drifted to emotional tones which faded over and gave resonance to new ones making a symphony feeling. It felt as if the sides of his temple were closing and everything behind him was dark and limp like a sleeping appendage. Yet to counteract this inside he felt a engery raise in his chest almost liken to a ball that bounced atop a stream of water.

"Umphhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh........."

He groaned for all of a minute. His vision fixed on a exile acorn. Those squirrels were at it again.

"Just...what...shall...we...do...with...you?"

He pined over the Acorn. His eyes forming smiles, he had such a luster for newly made flora.
If this one survived the squirrels wrath he would make a fine oak. And no doubt it got past the weevils too. How fated would it be to plant this little one he thought, already seeing its full bloom. One finger dipped it into the soil christening it with a prayer to Carmelya. He shifted some earth over it like a burial of life. The forest seemed to spin around him pleased with their new addition to an already extended family. What a pleasant moment majestic in the smallest ways. Quite pleased he took first stride arching his foot: CRASH as it landed upon the ground and a pause willing the other foot. Next stride longer than before: BOOM dust swiveling in globes. The crashes and boom countined as he strode down his own beating path making way for what ever he happened upon.

[Bramble]

Each step a man could call timber, a beckon from mortal men of fear what lurks in the woods. Each step a cry of noise so powerful dust could never truly settle without memory of the passerby.

WHOMP !
The grass shivers.
WHOMP!
The dirt indents.
WHOMP!
An oaken foot goes after the next.

Yet each step was in care, trampling only the paths set so many aeons ago by his brethren Ents, the forefathers the grand ones of arch dealings. For truly they saw the forest in it’s entirety for eternity. And so passed down as with procreation no different than plant alike making plant alike, these were the same steps they always were. Always same, always no different, each same step his thoughts drifted old concepts liken to a musty chessboard used by old fellows who knew each others moves. One step placed further to the right as his thought forms premed to the special cavity of the path. It’s relation to vertical trees, and the dome of the horizon trickling through the canopy. His leathery wrinkled foot brushed passed something in bloom, and became his centerpiece of a vanishing point.

Oh how long I have walked this never to see you the same his noggin popped. The profoundness of his vision expanded within his mind’s eye. This blossom became a focal point where everything connected around it enmass. The trees themselves seem to warp over and bend to a new perspective. What if Bramble gummed his brain, what if all this same is really not its always been. To doubt his teachers, the paths given to him, how he viewed the forest… gone! Their were many focal points springing from every grove and underbrush. high and low he could see each leaf held it’s own unique conciseness as always but deeper still to notice within his own mind this was different: The mass, the fold of a backdrop, the unity present in the smallest of twigs each had it’s own view to place his own. Life jumped out from him, and as bramble soaked like clear water a spectrum of angles flooding his thoughts, he began to feel warm cooling spirit deep in his belly. This was his kingdom, bramble wore a crown of twisted limbs like a fool who found the kings hat.

He lifted his sap filled eyes and gazed upon the vast ends and verge of dolwood. Just how far did it go? Where ends meet, he was sure to find out. He set a path, a new one. Forming in his mind like sparkling star dots placed themselves in spots were he would thread. Constellations of his footsteps predestined. He ventured with a wonderlust seeing topsy-turvey as he jaunt down his new scared path -- to
the edge of the forest.

[Bramble]

Trudging the path broadening his vision of root and branch, Bramble could feel his deep energy well up. Like a long pulse that flowed through him almost as if a ghost overtook him. The dirt below looked menacing of droplets of till and scattered ness, yet it carried a spirit of freedom dancing in fleeting seconds. All around him the sacredness of the Dolwood settled all connected, and shifting with a stillness only peace could know.
Bramble had heard of the music of the spheres from the ancient elders, a sense that tied all others together. Old stories flew through his reflexive memory of the stars being lifetimes apart. The greatest Treant story tellers would recite the wisdom of the elders passing down images for young saplings to work out in words only to expand the conciseness. The silent conversation as telepathic trees would stare into the soul of the eye and know.

Then like a flicker of madness he felt the forest move through him as if he wasn’t walking at all. It was if the forest moved through him rather than him through it. His vision in that moment narrowed then opened and the nature space bent through with twilight hues and purple dew. In a twitch he ruffled, shaking leaves from his brow and watched two of multitude leaves cascade in uneven symmetry. They glimmered with his sweat as he shed them. The motion of time dropped each in a pattern he could not forecast as so many moments in his memory seemed similar when shedding. All those times he saw himself drop leaves seemed the same, but this was different, very different. life had taken meanings so new that whatever forest logic his life had garnered could be discarded. Before it was if life happened along a path, a sacred way unmoving as now life could be seen from all directions. Treant logic was a strange thing it dealt with the change of the unchanging, but this non-linear thought stemmed one might say from a senile aging.

He questioned his sanity whilst staring at a tree as he passed by slowly. It looked like a brain with synapse gateways to other worlds. His imagination thought if the roots were duplicates of the branch like symmetry. In fact each branch appeared to have it’s own root system, he wondered if each was a stump unto itself implanting it’s tops and bottoms from other perspectives. As if a tree was a ball universe equal all around with tips that elongated to the spirit of its own galaxy. Over and under he scanned the tree, bark markings with light and shadow. Little stories, little faces bounced and rearranged against the trees skin. It was worn out in some spots where natures caress had touched it only to make it stronger.

Bramble snapped out of it wishing to go no further down this journey of insanity.
But something pulled him in deeper. His greatest fear confronted him smoldering in a pit down far along the path he had set. At the side of his vison, his eye remained motionless in a long stare. He stood frozen much like an animal in fear, the query of neither fight or flight entered his mind. Instead he stood hunched, hands and arms curled to his torso, and his stumpy legs and massive feet clung to the ground. The smoke wrapped the design of the forest, confusing him further. Mystic Treants would speak of dreams they would have inside smoke. It spiraled and weaved tales oh so far off from him. Dare he move closer to the beginning of his hell? Fire held an ancient law for woodlands. It was primal fear, first cause of death, and lore shrouded behind the smoke and char thereafter. Yet this fire was timid small, and in a way a child sees a spider smaller than he runs, Bramble stood his ground. His grip and focus fixated on the smolder. The smell echoed and reverberate a taste. It felt as if it scratched his throat like brass pins that turned with heat.
The fire was looking back at him frozen in time. It spoke of all the evils his heart desired, the untook paths and wild bends for travels to be taken. The land cared as much for him as he did for the land. Perhaps this time he could give back. One step forward just to put the fire out. Second step just to see the fire. Third step only care for the land. Soon each step quickened in pace. And Bramble was at full speed thumping, stomping, hooving, rumbling the earth and weed. He could see the smoke trails warp in chaos; bending rings, fluxing, working parallels. There he stood full stop over it and with a shut of eyes it was gone. Bramble could feel it burning inside of him. Like a dim candle it hollowed out the cave of his being, with shadow ripples, and flickers of tiny light viberations. Everything that was enclosure evaporated into a synthetic jelly light. It was bright blossom of revelation, of fire, destruction of dark corners of the mind that pulsated like stars’ echoes.
Everything was moving inside of him, soon the identification tumbled, broke and snapped into emotional patterns of grim shadow and his death maker flame which shone tales of majestic rebirth. Could it be the comforts of a Treant soul was the serpent light nemesis that casted out darkness? The pale curtain fell and Bramble passed the might of his mind to rest, the interchange race figuring the curve simple conjectures of good and bad fell victim to himself curled into a ball of smattered orange heat strokes. This was his end. The final exodus of old thought and reemergence in grand vision, his hands lingered over the flame and smoke curling shapes of violent enlightenment and aggressive third eye ripping. Celestial patterns and Eternal divinations called out in madness that he couldn’t recall. Somewhere in his foolishness he had fallen from his precipice lost all relevance of his primal duty as a servant of nature. He stood scared exiting secretion and broke down upon the ground tangled in a mess of his own wild forest body, and gave glimmer to his dreams.