Iskall groaned softly as their headache returned for what felt like the four billionth time that afternoon. The start of a new season was always rough, what with the very fibre of their being trying (and, for the most part, failing) to find a tree to attach itself to, but this time around things seemed even worse than usual.
The worst part was that Iskall had really thought that they'd solved the problem with their omega tree back in Season 7. They'd thought that, by binding themselves to a larger, permanent tree-structure, the dryad parts of their code would remain more anchored, and there wouldn't be any more repeats of this situation, where Iskall was too sick to move for the first couple days of every new server the Hermits went to.
It had even worked, for a little bit. Iskall had been perfectly healthy at the start of Season 8, ready to go from the moment that the season started. Unfortunately, Iskall had not been perfectly healthy at the end of Season 8. They had, in fact, been crushed under a very, very, very large rock.
Anyway, it turns out that unspooling someone's code from the situation of being crushed under a rock (especially a very, very, large one) also involves detaching them from any ties to empty servers, in order to avoid tearing them apart at the seams. So here Iskall was, alive but being attacked from all sides by this stupid migraine, utterly tree-less.
"Iskall?" Ren gently knocked on the door of the dirt-hut-cave thing that Iskall had built themselves to get away from the terrible, headache-inducing sunlight, before stepping in, letting in a sliver of said sunlight. "You need anything?"
"Tree," Iskall grunted out, although the word was probably lost on Ren considering that it was muffled by Iskall mashing their face into their pillow.
"Dude, you, uh, have you had any water recently?"
"No," again, the sound was muffled by the pillow. Iskall would have rolled over to talk to Ren properly if it weren't for the fact that they were currently in a state of everything-ow-forever.
"I'll get you a glass then, how about that?"
"Ok," Iskall liked Ren's company, they really did, but they were severely lacking in the brainpower required for any more conversation.
The sliver of light that had been let in by Ren's presence vanished, and Iskall's migraine ebbed a little.
Really, Iskall figured they should count themselves lucky. In terms of the symptoms suffered by dryads who weren't bound to a tree, migraines fell on the fairly tame end of the scale. At least they weren't asphyxiating or fainting or, in the case of that one guy, spontaneously combusting. It still sucked though. It was bad in every way conceivable and – and, suddenly, they solidified a bit, feeling a lot better. Had their code finally latched onto a tree?
Nope, nevermind, someone was taking an axe to it. Iskall wanted to scream, but that would probably just hurt more, if they were being honest with themselves.
Iskall rolled over and closed their eye, deciding to at least try to get some sleep, since they weren't getting anything else done in this state. The task was probably futile, but hey, at least it was something other than ruminating on thoughts of how sore they were.
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When Iskall woke up, they were actually feeling a lot better. While they were asleep, they must have properly latched onto a tree. Still half-asleep, they reached for their communicator to update the other Hermits of their situation.
Iskall85: Please be careful cutting down trees, I've latched onto one.
With that out of the way, they cast their mind outwards, getting a feel for what the tree was like. It was... birch? Okay, Iskall could work with that. It seemed larger than the trees they'd had in previous seasons, with the exception of the omega tree. Maybe it was custom? That would be nice, as long as whoever had built it didn't mind Iskall occasionally needing to drop by to recharge their magic.
Shakily, they stood from their bed, quickly downing the glass of water that Ren has brought them while they were out. They should probably find where their tree was, so the Hermits could get back to doing whatever tree-cutting they needed to do as soon as possible. They stepped out of their dirt hut, the sun still a bit too glaringly bright for their liking, but there wasn't much they could do about it at this stage.
They began walking, following after the gentle, subconscious magical pull that bound them to their tree. They found they had to cross the Hermississippi, but thankfully someone had left a boat near the place where they reached the shoreline.
Eventually, they found their way to the tree that they knew was theirs. It was birch, as they'd thought, and definitely custom. It was massive, branches sprawling out to cast a dancing shadow on the ground. A sign nearby proclaimed it to be 'The Tree of Whimsy.' Iskall smiled. It was perfect.
And then they turned around, spotted the giant diorite tower right next door, and let out an agonised scream.
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A shorter one today, but oh well. Still technically over the goal I set myself for these stories, so we're doing ok!
I've been Entropy, peace out from the present!
