For as long as he could remember, Martyn Littlewood had lived with the trees. They didn't understand each other at all. They were each other as much as they were themselves. His hair was a bleached blond, his eyes as blue as pools and as grey as stone. They shone of the forests of his home, of a evident happiness and somewhere near the back was a slight uncertainty. Around his head he wore a simple black piece of cloth. He was known to all around as "The Tree Whisperer", a Nature Spirit in the form of a human. Most people identified him by the light green swirl on his t-shirt. Nobody was really his friend, but everybody knew him. It was impossible not to. It wasn't that they didn't want to be his friend. He had something about him that just pushed you away at the last second, like he was warning you off. Like he was uncertain what to do.
So the day the machines came, Martyn couldn't flee. He could see what was happening and he knew it had been coming. When the Mayor of the nearby town accepted the contract to destroy the trees, he'd expected Martyn to fight back. Welcomed it even. To have to restrain such a powerful boy would put him under his possession and his control. To control Martyn was to control nature itself. Even better, the boy didn't know the full implications of what he could do when he talked to the trees. So when Martyn merely nodded at the great machines chopping down his homeland, the Mayor was outraged. Martyn couldn't give the Mayor the satisfaction of owning him, because Martyn knew what was going on in the Mayors head. For the trees had warned their friend of future events and so in turn, he had listened. Listening though, did not make what was happening any easier.
"No!" he shouted, "You can't do this! Not me!" the soldier merely raised an eyebrow at the boy's shout and continued to carry him away, like he did it all the time. Maybe he did. "Stay strong, Toby! Don't let them get inside of you!" his mother shouted. Toby glanced back at her and bent his head to hide his tears from the soldier. For he knew she was right. What he didn't show, they couldn't see. Glancing around the flocks of children being led away, Toby saw a blond head looking to the sky, like he was asking it what to do. In spite of his tears, in spite of everything that was happening, Toby felt a spark of happiness deep inside. For if Martyn Littlewood was going to the factory too, maybe he could finally talk to him. Maybe he could even get to know him, like he might know a friend. He sighed and dismissed the thought. Martyn was older than him and he talked to the trees. Toby couldn't talk to the trees.
Martyn felt the top of his bunk bed shake, before he heard a slightly smothered squeal. He sighed. It was just his luck to get given a bunk bed with a kid much younger than him that was likely to wake him up most of the night. He had already been horrified at the idea of sharing a bunk with someone. After spending his whole 14 years with the trees, he had no idea how to treat another human. Not only this, but sleep was important to Martyn right now. The factory workers had expected him to work just as hard as an adult and although he was used to working in his forest, he had breaks whenever he wanted there. Here, he was treated as somebody might treat a machine. He was dreading the morning. People already stared at him for no reason, but when the expected snow came tomorrow, there'd really be something to stare at. Rolling over, Martyn feigned sleep. That kid just wouldn't stop rocking the bed. He was on the verge of trying to ask him to stop when everything went quiet. Slowly, carefully, he saw the young boy peeping at him from the edge of the bed. Martyn raised his eyebrows. Normally the trees were a little cryptic, but their last message to him had been particularly puzzling. "You will make a new friend." what was that meant to mean? Martyn didn't want friends. He only needed the forests to keep him content.
It was morning at last. When Toby opened his eyes, he knew it was the start of another day in the factory. Like Martyn, Toby had been overworked and as a consequence he had been extremely tired last night. The only difference between yesterday was that he had something to be excited about. Toby was on a bunk bed with Martyn. Martyn Littlewood, the person he had always wanted to know. He knew this was going to be a difficult day for Martyn. Toby was one of the few who knew what happened to Martyn when it got particularly cold. He heard Martyn stirring below and decided that it would be now that he would say hello to him. If he dismissed him, then at least he would no longer be kept awake all night by the fact that the person he wanted to befriend was underneath him. He heard Martyn groan and hide his head under the covers of his bed. This made Toby feel upset. So it had happened then. Martyn had literally turned blue with the seasons, just like a forest spirit.
Plucking up his courage, Toby stuck his head underneath the bed and looked at where Martyn slept. Martyn was sitting up and, when he saw Toby, looked like he was suppressing another groan. "Erm... Hi," said Toby, nervously, "I just wanted you to know that I know what happens to you when it gets cold and stuff... So if you ever want anybody want to talk to anybody who won't keep staring at you then... I'm here!" Toby quickly pulled himself back up into his bunk. He sighed. That didn't work out so well. He knew that his words had come out in a fast torrent, meaning that Martyn might if only heard one word in three. He heard Martyn standing up and saw him wearing a blue t-shirt instead of his spring green one. It matched his skin well, but he guessed that wasn't a good thing for Martyn. He shuffled about a little on his feet, like he didn't know what to do. "Thank you, person." he shuffled some more, "It's nice to know someone doesn't think I'm weird. Maybe we could talk sometime?" Toby smiled at him.
"Sure, but maybe when we're actually allowed?" Toby whispered to Martyn, keeping in his massive grin. He saw Martyn open his eyes wide and jump back into bed. He heard him laugh and thought how happy his laugh sounded, how carefree. Maybe Martyn's reply to him had been a little forced, but to Toby that didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that he replied. That Martyn the Mysterious Tree Whisperer might be his friend.