War Of Misery

Chapter 3 The Human

'Comically twisted and many times folded, a lamree is a one of a kind, made to shape wind into words.'

As Mordra and Eluis approached the scene, it gradually became clear.  The human attempting to cut Mordra's tree was a young man, about 20 years of age. He was tall with long, dark brown hair. It was braided and hung down to about the middle of his thickly muscled back. He sang along with his rhythmic strokes. Pain shot through her with each crack of the axe.  Just as she composed herself from the last shot of pain she noticed another Dryad sneaking up on him.

Mordra hastily turned to Eluis. "Go ward off Dryads.  I'll deal with this one."

"Yes, ma'am." Even so, Eluis touched her arm as he looked into her crystal eyes.  All he needed was that one last look of confidence from her.  She nodded and smiled.  That was enough.  He knew she would be fine.  Eluis changed forms as he mouthed "Good luck." Not that she needed it, but it was appreciated.  She was so excited.  She finally got to try out her lamree.  There was another crack of the axe as she was abruptly brought back to reality.  The other Dryad was about to kill the human.

"Ganor!" She yelled. The Dryad froze at the sound of Mordra's voice. Terror shot across Ganor's face when she saw the old Dryad. "This is my tree, thus it is my business. Go away." Mordra practically growled with a harsh gust of wind in the Dryad tongue.

Ganor bowed.  She was shaking from head to toe with fear.  Replying in a soft whistle, "Yes, Dornae." She then hastily disappeared.  Mordra doubled over with the next stroke against her tree.  She tried to straighten.  She turned back to the human as he was still singing.

One for a babe
That was just born
Two for its ma
Battered and worn
Three for an old soul
Tired and torn...

There was a pause in his song as he felt the gentle vibration of a Dryad's walk. There was soft rustle as it drew closer. He turned to see Mordra. Her long, raven black hair fluttered in the wind.  There was a thin braid on either side of her delicate face.  Set with bright eyes that's seemed to be forged of sapphires and lightning, it seemed to be made of porcelain.  A mark stamped across her forehead. The mark of a Red Dryad. She reached for an odd device that resembled a rather dodgy flute. Dropping his axe, he fumbled for his sword, hardly having it out before a cool, sweet voice reached his ear. It was smooth as the spring wind that brushes your face. It carried a hint of pain hidden deep within. It was a voice that would melt the heart of any sinner. He had never heard such a soothing tone before.

"Hello there.  It's a fine day for cutting my tree." She gave him a bright smile and stepped back to show that she meant less harm then he posed to her.

He reminded himself that this is what he came here for.  Still grasping his weapon, he tried his best to not sound startled.  "Who are you and what in this god forsaken place do you want?" It was a brutish question, but a question none the less.

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that a false tone of threat I hear? Allow me to intoduce myself.  My name is Mordra, and as I said, that happens to be my tree you are cutting." She had regained her composure from the pain and was fully prepared to take as long as needed.

He lowered his sword. This wasn't at all what he thought a Dryad would be like.  Was this even the right one?  No, the Tapistaries had brought him to 'The Dornea', for so they called her.  She probably wouldn't kill him. With a curious tone and just a hint of a cold smile he remarked, "So, why have you not tried to kill me? You seem much too friendly for a Dryad." He noticed that she seemed completely weaponless, he had the upper hand.

Mordra spoke nonchalantly into her lamree once again. "And you seem much too friendly for a human. My dear, after living such a long life and being surrounded by death, I wish to dissociate myself from it. Now if you wouldn't mind, please stop cutting my tree. It hurts, and dying certainly wasn't on my list of things to do today." She smirked. 

This was it.  She really was the one he was looking for. He shrugged, "If I'm honest, I'm tired of this senseless war too.  Tell you what, I'll promise not to make any further attempts to cut down your tree, if you agree to answer a few questions."  Mordra took a moment staring almost dumb founded, knowing that she actually had the upperhand, and could conceivably kill him any moment she pleased.

She let out a small chuckle. "Alright, one condition and its a deal.  You, on pain of death, must not share any of the information I give you."

He gave his own smirk.  He was about to learn more than ever was taught about their mortal enemy.  Dryads became paralyzed when their tree is severely damaged, and he had already made quite the dent. "Deal.  To start, what's that thing you're playing.  It sounds like language, not music."

Mordra laughed. "Would you rather me speak in the Dryad whistle?  It's nearly impossible for humans to understand."

The man was becomimg more sure of himself.  This Dryad was nothing to be feared.  She was unarmed and was giving away free information! "I asked what it was, not why you had it."

She sighed and gave a low chuckle. "Ah.  You humans are funny creatures." The man's face flushed.  Mordra glanced at him and smiled.  The flute like thing was still at her lips as she spoke. "The answer is obvious, but if you're too stupid to figure it out, its what I call..." She thought for a moment about how to translate it. "I call it a lamree.  The word in Dryad is..." Mordra paused. "Hm.  You'd never be able to say it."

The man regretted bringing up the translation device.  All that had come of it was darts to his ego.  How did this Dryad know he wouldn't be able to say it if she didn't show him in the first place!  He despretly searched his mind for a better question.  A light bulb went off in his head. "So, What did you mean by long life? You look as young as I am. Have you discovered immortality?" He said this as he sheathed his sword.  He picked up his fallen axe and eyed her suspiciously.

She laughed. "Child," she moved around him in one, clean motion and put a hand on the torn trunk, "Showing, is better than telling."