The Briar Patch (BP): Ch. 6 - Into the Hollow

Zeal cursed under his breath, lowering himself onto his belly and crawling into the tunnel. This would be a tight fit.

And he just knew that the dark Shol was laughing at him. Faint whispers carried through the burrow, bouncing off of the curved walls to echo back to him.

The amplified voice reminded him of those acoustic audio-transmitters that children played with, looping a taut wire between two cups.

Was it that much to ask for.

To be a tad more accomodating? He knew it to be perfectly within their means, to have been constantly and effortlessly manipulating Vye's conjured vines as they had the entire trek back.

The severed Shol could've shown a might of hospitality and made the hollow a little wider so he wasn't on his stomache, arms and legs stretched awkwardly on either side. There wasn't even enough room to have his limbs underneath him to crouch properly. And so Zeal crawled on his belly, the agonizing pain from the exertion leaving him winded. In an ironic twist though, it was also what kept him conscious as his fatigued body threatened to collapse.

Damn Shol. He glared at the silhouette skipping merrily ahead.

"Hurry Reaper!" they called in a melodic lilt.

In the warm atmosphere of home, they seemed another person entirely.

At least one of the occupants was enjoying themselves.

"... Just call me Zeal." He grunted, dragging himself along. The movement jostling all the hurts and bringing with it a sharp hiss.

"You know." He shot the Shol a pointed look, "It'd be much easier if these tunnels weren't so narrow."

As if in response, the circumference of tunnel ahead was that much smaller.

From the smug smile his host was sporting, the bloody thing knew exactly what it was doing.

Thankfully it was the last bend, and thoroughly spent, he dragged himself to lean against the living wall.

Where was Vye?

Tired eyes scanned the room until they spotted a small nest of vines, upon which the small Shol was curled up.

The moss bedding seemed to have been freshly woven, and with much care, and the entirety of the hollow seemed to have been very recently cleaned out.

All in all, it didn't have the homely clutter one would expect from an impromptu visit.

With what felt like a slow realization, Zeal pieced together the circumstances that surrounded them.

This Alpione Shol had sensed the two intruders as they entered Whitedew, and having gauging the young Shol's condition in need of intensive care, the Bluepine had remained behind, busy with preparations that only a Shol could perform, in anticipation of their kin.

Meanwhile, they deemed the Crier more than sufficient in whisking away the Shol from their presumed captor. It would be a cinch. The Highlands were the Crier's natural element, and there were few who could contend with such elemental beasts. They were also ambush predators, and creatures of stealth. Surely it would pose little challenge.

But when their Crier had been incapacitated, Lockes had rushed to save their precious familiar and the young Shol from perils unknown. And when they realized with startling clarity that it was a Reaper they would contest with, they were immediately on the offensive.

Squirming coils wriggled into view and Zeal started. The blood loss was taking its toll.

The Seeker eyes seemed to lose focus and he forced them to zero in on the creepers snaking around the hollow.

Most of them, he realized, were leading to Vye.

The myriad of vines were... attached to him. Siphoning him nutrients, likely. This didn't appear to be simple conjuring of a moment's notice. They had been created beforehand.

He stared at the pallid foliage of his ward.

One thing he had learned during their stay together. Shols didn't shiver. They trembled, certainly, but nothing that would generate warmth. The severity of the onset of cold was best seen in their coloration, and in the deep chill, Vye's leaves had turned a sickly pale shade.

He needed to warm him up.

Mentally preparing himself, he forced himself up with a grunt, dragging himself over and collapsing beside the tangle of vines.

Tiredly he reached in and gingerly pried Vye out from the nest, taking care not to dislodge the vines and covering him with the tatters of his cape.

All the while, the other Shol observed the exchange with mild interest, waiting till the Reaper was settled to remark, "Bring the little one over to the fire pit. The flames will do more than your half-frozen corpse. And take off those garments, they'll only keep the chill in."

What flames? It was an empty hearth filled with unnaturally spherical stones. The dark Shol was right about the garments, but neither did he have the strength left to conjure up the flames, and somehow he doubted the Bluepine would have the highly flammable fuel to feed and jump start the fire.

Highland Shols were amongst the few of their kind who were comfortable with the frigid temperatures, what need then would they have of tinder. Circumstances being what they were, it was highly unlikely then that this one would've stocked up.

Besides, whatever pathetic spit of embers the Shol would breath Life into would likely take a while and Vye needed warmth now.

But he did as he was told nonetheless, struggling to shed the torn cloth with clumsy, unfeeling hands.

He stripped down to his undershirt, raising a brow when a grabby vine jerked the damp fabric out of his grip to hang beside the pit.

The Northern Blue knelt over the stones, and to his astonishment, a small fire rose from the mound of ashes. On closer inspection, there was a hollow chute that seemed to tunnel up like some makeshift chimney.

The licking flames rising with a wave of their hand, curling as if eager to follow after the teasing, beckoning gestures, until it had been kindled into a hearty blaze.

Pyromancy?

Shols were not known for having such magicks. What other ability did this Shol have?

But the Bluepine offered no explanation, and instead lauded the acquisition, as if it were a commonality amongst their kind to partake of elemental fire, "Unlike the Lowlands, the Alps do not provide the same hospitality. One must not fall complacent and take for granted that which can only avail them."

Zeal stared at the pine needles coating the Shol, "You're a Bluepine, are you not?" The Conifer subspecies were one of the few groups resilient to wintry climes.

"An astute observation." They smiled, picking up on the implication and taking a moment to relish in the warmth of the inferno that now burned in the pit, "But you're missing some crucial elements."

The bluepine fell silent, eyes slipping shut in the rolling waves of warmth emanating from the fire pit.

The hurt of those lost, torn from them in savagery, rested all too fresh in their mind.

Lonely years spent in seclusion, had done nothing to soothe the heavy ache in their chest. Yet there was little choice but to trudge on, though no matter how far they walked, pushing past adversity, grief was ever close behind. A shadow behind them, a spectre that dogged their every step.

"It seems." They turned to him, "That for all the wisdom and knowledge stored in the grand halls of the Archives that the civilized world is so proud of--boasting to have a veritable wealth of information, enough to be considered a wonder of the world, a trove, a treasury, vast as the sea itself! ... For all of its wonder and mystery, it lacks the most basic understanding of Shols."

A wry chuckle, "... Though there was quite extensive database indeed on the research into the medicinal properties of Shols."

"And do voicing these sentiments placate the grudge you harbor for us 'fleshlings'? Does it make you feel better about the pathetic state of your kind?"

The very boredom and insensitivity by which Zeal addressed the matter would've tickled anyone who cared.

But no one cared.

"There is a lot that you fleshlings would like swept under the rug. I would not have it be so. But no, it does not. I despise what you represent, and the memories you bear."

More importantly, how did they know about the Archives?

It bothered him.

Shols were a reclusive race. Not by any means exclusive, simply that they were incapable of living within the city with their demand for pure water and grottos to rear fairy rings. That and they were not fond of being on their lonesome, thus wandering Shols were scarce.

"Stop projecting your past upon me. I was not the one who took your kin." he held Vye a little tighter then, hands clutching the sleeping Shol towards him. He would not allow the Bluepine to guilt him into bearing the weight of sins he had no hand in.

"Oh but--" their eyes flashed, smile twisting into something much darker, "Your involvement cannot be denied can it? You were a part of it, no different than the ones who tore apart the Circles of poor little Coty and mine self."

To this Zeal could say nothing.

The smooth polished bone of the circlets around his wrist glinted from beneath his sleeve, oddly heated against his skin.

"I thought so. Don't think all of us are as naive to the world as the seedling you travel with. One doesn't simply 'become' a Reaper now, do they?" the bluepine chortled, turning back to the fire and stoking the flames. They prodded at the stones once more until they blazed, filling the hollow with a heavenly warmth.

One that made his every extremity scream in sharp, piercing, pain as countless needles bit deep.

The frostbite.

Now that the heat was warming his body, the blissful numbness the cold provided was wearing off. Defrosting frozen flesh was where the worst of it came from, as nerves reawakened to flesh mangled by the formation of ice.

Perspiration formed on his brow, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a firm scowl. His body felt aflame, excruciating stings piercing his appendages. Everything hurt.

At the very least it meant the nerves were still alive.

"For all this wealth of information... yet lack the most basic information of mine kith and kin. For shame, Reaper." they sighed.

"Are you going to just chastise me for the whole duration of my stay?" Zeal bit out through the pain.

"No, for I will educate you on what your Archives lack. What you will need to know to raise this little one. So listen carefully."

Only when the bluepine was sure that they had the Reaper's full attention did they continue, "You asked me why have a fire pit if my kind tolerates the cold, did you not? Because not all of us are born of the local flora. Our genes have near permanence in their remembrance, and those with the ability to decipher it will find not simply one, but the entirety of the Verdance embedded in our code of Life. Furthermore, though scarce, it is not entirely unheard of for one of these slumbering, and long unseen Shols to arise once more."

The crackling of the fire filled the empty room as their unexpected host seemed to withdraw into themselves. They saw not the licking flames nor hear the pop of the wood, neither did they smell the fragrant wood or feel its blazing warmth. 

And perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but for a moment Zeal thought he saw a glow. Like that of the midsummer firefly.

But surely it must have been an ember adrift from the flames.

"While the environment does have a significant influence on our seedlings and impress upon which of these genes become active, it is not so definite a determinant as your kind seems apt to believe, drawn from the observation of a near perfect correlation between the local flora and those we host. It is simply that those of our kind who find the environment inhospitable, will gravitate to where they are best suited to be. As such, while uncommon, it is not altogether impossible to have a Shol of Lowland flora arise in a Fairy Ring in the Alps. Simply put, we naturally choose the place best suited to our subspecies, thus appearing as if the environment is the only determining factor. Those of us who are here, are best suited for this climate, while those who aren't generally choose to settle elsewhere, thus the appearance of our subspecies deriving from local flora."

The narrative was abruptly cut off.

"... 'ware the little one." The dark Shol hoisted a stone pot above the pit, the vines dropping several of the now heated rocks into it, careful of the splattering as the water erupted in a hiss of steam and bubbles, "Mind the stray splattes, it would not do to have his few remaining greens singed."

They busied themselves throwing various ingredients into the pot. Herbs, greens, roots, berries, and the like, before settling beside the cavity where the fire crackled warmly, "This pit is here to accommodate for those who are sensitive to the harsh climate. We do not leave our brethren behind."

Zeal grimaced, squinting at the Shol before him, who in turn was watching over Vye as he slept. His vision swam.

No better Time to ask. Maybe it would distract him from his torment.

"How do subspecies work?"

The Shol shot him a curious glance, "I would think that you would know that. Unlike the Verdance from which we are all descended, us lesser vessels are but limited to a subspecies by birth. A blessed few may host a variety of fruits and blooms, but all within the genus by which they sprout with."

"... It's not possible then to carry diversity?"

"Not on one Shol, no."

"Is it possible to graft?"

There was a long silence as the Shol turned their gaze upon him, studying him with a cold sort of look. At length, they asked, "Is there perchance, something you wish to tell me?"

Zeal was suddenly very much aware of the vines just by his legs, and another deliberately resting beside his shoulder with a languor that though for all its sluggish waving motions, seemed the most potent of unvoiced intimidation.

It was subtle and well concealed, but a very much real threat. Should the other deem that he did in fact pose a danger.

"I didn't experiment on him if that's what you're thinking."

"... Is that so? Nonetheless, I doubt this is simple curiosity. You don't seem interested in... irrelevancies."

But the vines remained as they were, idly flicking and slithering about. Like a cat's tail.

"Vye--what subspecies is he?"

The Shol gave him an odd look, and instead dismissively posed a question of their own, "Why is it that you address them as Vye?"

Zeal hesitated, glancing down at the small Shol in his lap, "Vye is his name."

"I forget that your kind has a concept of naming individuals."

"Seems rather inefficient and inconvenient besides."

"Mayhaps it be that those of flesh do not find an individual in themselves unique, thus require a label by which to differentiate them." The bluepine hummed to themselves before facing Zeal again and carrying on in a more conversational manner, "Perhaps to fleshlings, such things carry significance, but the concept is lost to us. Odd then that he would have you address him as such." they seemed to ponder it for a moment but ultimately waved it off, "Was it similarly their desire that you refer to them as male?"

Now that came as a bit of a surprise.

"Vye's not male?"

"That's what you're surprised by? Not his desire to take on the singularity of a name?" Zeal gave a shrug and the Bluepine held his hands up in a shrug, "Well. I wouldn't say that." the bluepine Shol held an arm across the chest, the other atop that with his chin resting on his clawed fingers, "I suppose I should give you the full course of 'Shols 101'."

Zeal shrugged as they tutted at him, ignoring the teasing grin as the Shol tossed over their shoulder, "How long have you been traveling with him?"

It wasn't his fault. "Doesn't matter, Vye's been less than helpful. One would think him mum for all the talking he does." Zeal scoffed.

Or doesn't, more like.

"Likely because they don't know any better." they sighed, "As I've said before, Shols need not words to understand. Doubtlessly he's been talking to you this whole Time and wondering why you've paid him no heed."

They padded over to the fire, "Well, settle yourself in and enjoy this raconteur's show. I will of course be narrating." Clearing their throat with a cough, the severed Shol waved his hand, and to Zeal's interest, the smoke and sparkling embers of the fire twirled in the air, a visual story as the Shol gave their lecture.

Zeal snorted, "I thought Shols didn't need words to understand."

"... For your benefit." they pinned on at the end with a wink, "Just for you."

Smoke encircled the Shol, twirling up and following their hand.

Zeal was prudent, and cautious besides. Such frivolities seemed that excessive and self-indulgent.

Still as fire dimmed, he couldn't help but be drawn into the mood. Was this another of their tricks? The air did smell sweet. Perhaps a soothing agent.

Glowing embers seemed to trace their own path through the logs, a rippling reddish glow that brought down the ambient light such that the light cast traced the contour of the Shol's face in sharp contrast.

From the smoky cloud did two shapes form.

A caricature of a man and a woman, body traced by the smoky embers.

"Gender in many fleshlings is a binary system where life arises only by contribution of both a male and female. Only with the crucial component of both genders, is it possible for precious life to take hold."

The smoke formed an upper portrait of the figures as they faced one in a tender embrace, before panning out and showing the round belly of the woman.

Was this really necessary?

"But Shols, by our anatomy, are not partial to gender." The smoke parted, twirling around the Bluepine and screening the sharp cast of the light. The fire glowed a beautiful and warm red, casting sharp contrast of and on the contours of the Shol. The Bluepine closed their eyes, long needles shuffling as they parted to reveal soft tufty clumps of the male cones, "Male anatomy, and yet--"

From another tangle a nub sprouted, growing much larger than the soft tufty ones had been, "... female, just the same. In technical terms, many Shols have a gender, but such is but ephemeral. Whereas one's gender is one's identity to fleshlings, it is but insignificant detail to us. No different than what color or garlands we adorn ourselves with today, the passing weather, or other smalltalk. Shols are all equals in the Verdant's gift."

Smoke enshrouded the bluepine once more, a torrent of ashen snow that gave way to a burgeoning spring of embers, that would once more scatter as the leaves of fall.

"As you may have gathered, Shols do not arise from the traditional means of those of flesh. I am of course referring to sexual reproduction, if that was unclear." They took a moment to relish in the very much unamused look sent their way.

"We lack differential anatomy, aside from the botanicals that adorn us."

A smoky figure twirled, dancing up to him.

Come to think of it, it was odd that the Bluepine wore a shawl rather than the simplicity of their plumy down. Clothes were uncommon for Shols, with the most of their garbs being a decoration of some kind or some accent of nature.

Vye was also unique in that regard, but such had been borne out of necessity. He knew for a fact that the Bræmbel Shol certainly didn't enjoy the restriction of his foliage, taking every opportunity to rid himself of their confinement whereas the Bluepine took to it with an almost devout obsession, rarely removing the article.

"We are not burdened to carry our young to term, rather." The smoky silhouette of the Shol walked towards another ring of smoke that seemed to branch up, while roots spread from beneath, "Coties arise through our Circles, by which we gather our seeds, and whereupon beseech the Verdance that they too may burgeon forth."

The Shol knelt in the circle, joined by others who did the same. Like ripples in water, the rings slowly spread.

"From our Circles, does the Verdance grow, and the Prismatic Arc raised to bear the spectrum that make up our world."

Not more hokey lore. At least this story telling was more involved that Vye's little campfire harangues.

Suddenly the smoke dispersed.

The Shol frowned and waved their hands in fluid gestures, but to no avail. The smoke did little more than twirl in vague amorphous curls.

They sighed, sitting on their haunches, "It seems my reserves are spent. Our little scuffle took more out of me than I thought."

They gestured towards the small Shol, "Anyhow, your little friend is of bramble. Blessed enough to sustain multiple strains by the look of things. As you must know by now, verbal forms of communication in such specificity is not a norm amongst Shols. It's usually perceived as unnecessary, as there is not often much that would dictate such gravity as to necessitate such clarity and direct understanding. As such, speaking in words usually portends something of great significance. Furthermore if one does deem it necessary to address a Shol, we are often identified by our subspecies-striation (type), 2ndary striation (foliage pattern)-stage of growth. As an example Vye's 'name' by Shol terms would be Briarscale Mottlebloom. But stage of growth is not to be mistaken by age, as it's a seasonal change. A Shol's age is... "

But Zeal was lost in his own thoughts. Finally an answer to his question.

Come to think of it, perhaps he was mistaken. Bloodthorn was a type of bramble. 

But the other leaves didn't seem to be.

Well. No one better to ask than a Shol themselves. It was an opportunity he could not afford to squander.

"Then... this is not unusual?" Zeal interjected, carefully parting Vye's foliage to reveal a variety of distinctively unique leaves.

The Northern Blue Shol drew a sharp breath, stepping closer to stare at the foliage.

"So?"

The dark Shol said nothing as they took a step back. "Zeal."

His brow furrowed as he stared back, concern edging into him though his tone remained flat, "... Is he okay?"

"..." The Shol shook their head before spotting the frown on Zeal's face and quickly amending the seemingly negatory response, "It's not--he's fine." 

Shaking their head more vigorously to assuage him, "The coty is fine. Just fine. Malnourished, cold, that's all."

But it didn't feel quite right to Zeal. Still he nodded, for what else was there to do? Pressing the issue would only make matters worse.

The small bundle shifted in his lap and he peered down at Vye.

His young charge yawned wide.

Huh.

"Practically fangs." He muttered aside.

"Pardon?" the Bluepine quirked a brow.

Ah. The Shol had heard. "Considering the typical diet, these teeth are rather predatory."

"On the contrary, sharp teeth do more than tear flesh apart." the bluepine shrugged. Though they were rather sharp. "I suppose if one were to rationalize it, it would come down to functionality. The Lowlands are abound with an abundance of fruit and hard nuts and the like. It's easier to grasp and consume when you've the teeth to sink into them with."

"Maybe they were ground down from shattering the carapaces of sea hazel." Zeal snorted, recalling the Shol's penchant for the roasted treats when he'd brought a bag of them back.

"Sea hazel?" The small Shol pushed himself up, blinking up at him blearily, "Can I have one?"

"How long have you been awake?" Zeal grunted, small, sleepy hands feeling over his front and searching for a hidden pouch of the roasted sea hazel he was so fond of, "Sorry, I don't have any."

Vye groaned his disappointment and flopped back. The young Shol curled up in Zeal's lap and was already asleep again before Zeal could ask him how he felt.

"Give him to me. I'm impressed you've not passed out yet."

Not that Zeal had much say on the matter, his body screamed at him and his eyes were growing heavier by the minute. Vye had woken up, albeit briefly, but it was enough. His return to consciousness meant he would be okay.

The vines took the small bundled up Shol from him and the world faded to black.