In the great forests of the as-yet-unnamed Ashenvale, life carried on, much in the same way it had carried on for every day of its relatively short existence. It carried on with a kind of mysterious and mystical laziness. It was the sort of carrying on that suggested strangers should feel awed in its presence but indicated it couldn't really be bothered to do anything particularly awe-inspiring.
As the sun rose, the forest yawned. In the sudden and fleeting lull, a careful listener might have heard a shout.
In the last century or so (nobody counts these things), a few things had changed about this particular forest. Of course, changes are always to be expected, but it was fairly rare for this forest to see newcomers. Especially not newcomers this furless.
See now as a pair of these furless intruders walk among the trees. Well, one of them is walking, at least. The other is sprawled facedown in the dirt. A large root sits innocently behind them.
"Come along, Hawkseer," said the upright one with the sort of perky cheerfulness that would grate on anyone's nerves after prolonged exposure. The one named Hawkseer scramble hastily to a standing position before brushing himself off, a distinguished expression on his broad face.
"Quite," he replied.
It should be noted here that Hawkseer was not, in all actuality, his name. His real name was Gelhan, and it was a name he was proud of. There were two major problems with this name. The first was that it was shared with others.
Given the way in which his people's numbers had flourished in the last century or so, the younger generations were having a collective identity crisis of sorts. The more popular names were, true to their very nature, proving very popular, despite the apparent opinion of the older generations that these names were exceedingly odd. The multitudes of Kiralias amongst the females, for example, were causing quite a lot of confusion in conversation. As a result, many of the younger folks were given second names by which they could be easily identified. Most of these second names described their owners in some small way. They were not a very creative people, all told.
The second problem Hawkseer had with the name Gelhan was that he shared it with his current companion.
The pair walked side-by-side, Hawkseer in sullen silence, and his partner Stormfoot in a silence that wasn't so much sullen as a result of the flower stuck in his mouth. He was chewing on it thoughtfully.
"How are we supposed to get food without any bows or stuff like that?" he asked finally, the flower stem drooping sadly in his hand.
Hawkseer sighed. "We aren't looking for meat. We're looking for herbs. You don't need weapons to get herbs." He hoped this was true.
Stormfoot made a face. "I don't think I like herbs."
"Herbs are plants," Hawkseer said.
"Yeah?"
"Flowers are plants."
"Yeah."
"You like herbs."
"Oh."
Hawkseer felt very much like burying his face in his hands, or perhaps beating Stormfoot to a bloody pulp, but refrained. Neither would be very seemly, he felt. Instead he lifted his chin proudly and endured, assuring himself that his fortitude was both character building and admirable.
He squinted blurrily into the skies, since he was much closer to looking upward than down. They seemed to be empty. His mood soured further. He really wouldn't mind his second name so much if he got to see hawks more often. The story said that he'd been looking at a hawk when they'd been trying to think of a name for him. He wasn't sure he believed it. Surely he'd remember it. As far as he knew, he'd never seen a hawk in his life.
It was probably someone's sick idea of a joke.
Now, Stormfoot on the other hand: there was a believable story. They said he'd seen a storm coming just before his naming, and had promptly turned around and run away.
Hawkseer suddenly noticed that he was alone. Confused, he turned around. Stormfoot had come to a dead stop and was staring intently at a tree. The flower stem was dangling from the corner of his mouth, temporarily forgotten. Hawkseer peered at the tree for a moment and, having seen nothing extraordinary about it, glanced at him.
"What seems to be the matter?" he asked primly.
"Er." Stormfoot blinked. The flower fell from his mouth onto the ground. "I think... I think that tree just talked to me."
There were many things that Hawkseer could have said at this point. Most of them were remarkably witty and delightfully funny. The true shame was that he only realised this several hours later. At the present, on the other hand, his mind was desperately flailing about, searching for something intelligent. It failed. Eventually, he settled on: "Huh?"
"The tree," said Stormfoot evenly. "It talked to me. Er." He paused, his head cocked to one side. "Twice."
Hawkseer was struggling. Really, he was. He didn't think much of is companion, but he didn't believe the young man was crazy. Stupid? Yes. But not crazy.
"Are you sure?" he said at last.
"I wish I wasn't." Stormfoot's expression was serious.
"Well... what did it say?"
"Er," said Stormfoot again, visibly collecting his thoughts. "It kind of... rustled. And creaked and groaned and stuff." Hawkseer gave him a long look, and he bristled. "But it did it meaningfully."
"I see," Hawkseer said slowly, turning his stare warily to the tree. He couldn't shake the irrational feeling that it might spring to life and eat him at any time. Had he given thought to the fact that trees were alive anyway, his nerves would not have been eased in the slightest. "Is it groaning about anything in particular?"
"I think it might be, er, glad to be heard."
"Ah. That doesn't sound like anything to groan about."
"Might be more in the rustling, then."
The forest sighed, and a wind stirred. The tree swayed happily in the breeze before settling back into its stooping pose.
"And just then? Did it say anything?"
"More of the same, really."
"Ah."
Hawkseer considered this, delicately tapping at his chin with a finger. Assuming for just a moment that Stormfoot actually was hearing the tree talk, then...
"Perhaps the tree wants to know something?"
"Hmm, maybe," said Stormfoot. "Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know. You should say something to it, though. It's only manners." Hawkseer liked manners.
"Yeah. So, uh, what do you say to a tree?"
"I'd imagine one greets it," said Hawkseer uncertainly.
"Ah, 'course."
There was a pregnant pause as the two stood and stared at the tree in silence. Finally, Stormfoot cleared his throat.
"Yeeearrrrghshhhhhhh krrrraaawwwwww," he said.
Hawkseer gaped at him incredulously. That had sounded absolutely nothing like a tree. He shook his head and turned to face his audience, raising his arms regally.
"Krrrrruuunnnnnggguuuurrrrrrssshhhhhhh," he said matter-of-factly. Stormfoot stared at him in turn and Hawkseer wasn't sure whether he was being admired or mocked. He blushed.
"How do you know if you're even saying hello?" Stormfoot asked. Hawkseer ignored the question. He didn't want to know what he might have said about the tree's mother.
"This is folly," he said instead, pointedly turning away from the tree. There was a heavy silence.
"Yeah," Stormfoot conceded at length, fidgeting. "Maybe I ate a bad flower."
Hawkseer nodded determinedly. "I'd imagine so. Trees don't talk."
"Yeah," Stormfoot muttered. He leaned over and plucked a small yellow flower from the ground at the base of the trunk an began to chew aggressively on a petal. "Trees don't talk."
See now as two furless walkers wander amongst the whispering trees, senses warily heightened as they search for herbs. Something about the way they move - or maybe the way the forest moves around them - suggests that they are more a part of it than they were before.
Either way, the life in the forest carried on happily.