Denial
Everyone reacts to changes in their own ways, and Cheyenne being consumed by the Grove was a big change. Myth had seemed to come to life right before people's eyes and while some who fled refused to believe in what they had saw, any who stayed had a new world to adapt to.
Radmut was in denial.
The beast lingered beside a tree near the tracks, a long cut nothing more than a scar across its trunk and an axe shattered and half buried at its roots. Dried blood still caked the grass, no rain since the incident to wash it away, and it smelled like death. Her death.
A series of braided roots ran from the base of Radmut's neck into the forest and kept the harbinger firmly connected to the Grove and its denizens. It also kept her powered, plants photosynthesizing in the sun lovingly feeding a monster that refused, for now, to hunt for herself. The relationship was not totally parasitic: in exchange for nourishment, it saw through her eyes and forced her ears to swivel towards new sounds. A guard statue with a perfect view down the tracks where the Union Army and railroad workers had come from.
Though denial was harmless, it was always followed by anger.
Everyone reacts to changes in their own ways, and Cheyenne being consumed by the Grove was a big change. Myth had seemed to come to life right before people's eyes and while some who fled refused to believe in what they had saw, any who stayed had a new world to adapt to.
Radmut was in denial.
The beast lingered beside a tree near the tracks, a long cut nothing more than a scar across its trunk and an axe shattered and half buried at its roots. Dried blood still caked the grass, no rain since the incident to wash it away, and it smelled like death. Her death.
A series of braided roots ran from the base of Radmut's neck into the forest and kept the harbinger firmly connected to the Grove and its denizens. It also kept her powered, plants photosynthesizing in the sun lovingly feeding a monster that refused, for now, to hunt for herself. The relationship was not totally parasitic: in exchange for nourishment, it saw through her eyes and forced her ears to swivel towards new sounds. A guard statue with a perfect view down the tracks where the Union Army and railroad workers had come from.
Though denial was harmless, it was always followed by anger.
There was a conversation deep in the bones of the fallen beast. One voice was masculine and new, the other spoke as if it were her own.
The stranger inquired, "So you take the dead now?"
Thoughts passed through her and responded: "Waste not, want not."
There was confusion then, images of awful things that had once been dead. Reanimation it seemed was possible, somehow, but the result was thoughtless beasts that succumbed to their baser instincts until they became enough of a nuisance to warrant destroying. Vacant eyes, decaying bodies, and useless lust, hunger, and rage.
"This is not a war yet," said the stranger, "let her die. We don't need this kind of magic."
"There is no 'we,' you have turned your back on your own and I will not hesitate to take you back should you perish either."
The stranger sighed, and seemed to retreat from conversation with only one request: "You need to give her some spirit, hers is gone. You can't control the dead, so you must give her life." Then there was silence.
In the morning an orchid had grown on her grave.
The stranger inquired, "So you take the dead now?"
Thoughts passed through her and responded: "Waste not, want not."
There was confusion then, images of awful things that had once been dead. Reanimation it seemed was possible, somehow, but the result was thoughtless beasts that succumbed to their baser instincts until they became enough of a nuisance to warrant destroying. Vacant eyes, decaying bodies, and useless lust, hunger, and rage.
"This is not a war yet," said the stranger, "let her die. We don't need this kind of magic."
"There is no 'we,' you have turned your back on your own and I will not hesitate to take you back should you perish either."
The stranger sighed, and seemed to retreat from conversation with only one request: "You need to give her some spirit, hers is gone. You can't control the dead, so you must give her life." Then there was silence.
In the morning an orchid had grown on her grave.
Anger
It swelled and rose like the waves of the stormy sea, pushing outwards from the epicenter that was Radmut. The beast strained against vines that looked too thin to hold back the muscles that bulged under them, chained by more than just the physical plants.
Each wave of seething rage was pushed back by the power of the Grove and rolled into the creature that produced them and turned her, at the core, into the heart of a forge. Heated. Cooled as the anger was rolled out again. Reheated as it was forced back.
Creatures fled the area effected by the strife rather than subject themselves to the pounding of the anvil that was reshaping Radmut at her core. She was awakened, more than just a drone of the Grove, and she was angry. Betrayed by the men who had watched her fall and left her to die at the wayside of a wound that could have easily been treated. Rad wanted slaughter at the expense of anything. The Grove wanted that conviction turned to its protection and technology expansion.
The beautiful orchid pulsed and the tender tissue of the stem started to become rough like bark just as it began to grow stronger. It mirrored the changes overtaking Rad whose rusty iron prosthetics were being consumed and replaced by new flesh or strange bony protrusions.
Anger was like a deep summer storm, quick to form but quicker to pass through, despite any destruction in its wake. Bargaining was a stage that tended to overlap it.
It swelled and rose like the waves of the stormy sea, pushing outwards from the epicenter that was Radmut. The beast strained against vines that looked too thin to hold back the muscles that bulged under them, chained by more than just the physical plants.
Each wave of seething rage was pushed back by the power of the Grove and rolled into the creature that produced them and turned her, at the core, into the heart of a forge. Heated. Cooled as the anger was rolled out again. Reheated as it was forced back.
Creatures fled the area effected by the strife rather than subject themselves to the pounding of the anvil that was reshaping Radmut at her core. She was awakened, more than just a drone of the Grove, and she was angry. Betrayed by the men who had watched her fall and left her to die at the wayside of a wound that could have easily been treated. Rad wanted slaughter at the expense of anything. The Grove wanted that conviction turned to its protection and technology expansion.
The beautiful orchid pulsed and the tender tissue of the stem started to become rough like bark just as it began to grow stronger. It mirrored the changes overtaking Rad whose rusty iron prosthetics were being consumed and replaced by new flesh or strange bony protrusions.
Anger was like a deep summer storm, quick to form but quicker to pass through, despite any destruction in its wake. Bargaining was a stage that tended to overlap it.