“Us,” the woman continued, turning back to Leila and Landon. As she slowly spun back around, the trees that bordered the large center oak that she had stepped out from began to groan. They twisted, impossibly, shifting back and forth despite their thick, heavy trunks, and each slowly split down the middle, a thin crack making its way right down the center of the trees. There were two of them, and they shook and quivered as thin cracks cut their way from the top of their green branches down to the bottom, where the roots plunged into the earth.
Leila’s hand suddenly felt like it was being crushed, and when she went to move it, discovered Landon was holding her hand tightly.
The cracks in the trees opened wider, and hands plunged out: dark, brown, the texture of bark; followed by arms, and then legs, feet pressing against the earth, sending blooms and flowers wherever they stepped.
There were more of them.
Two more.
The two other . . . creatures? Tree people? Monsters? Leila wasn’t sure what to call them, stepped into the center of the grove, joining the woman who’d addressed Leila. These other women bore similar features. The bark skin, rough and textured, matched the oaks they’d stepped from, with small differences. One had golden, almost yellow, eyes that shone with a brightness that rivaled even Milford’s. The other's hair wasn’t the tangle of ivy and leaves like the others, but instead was short, made up of what looked like firm moss, close to her head. Like she’d had a haircut recently. Leila smiled at this one, even as they grew closer.
Something seemed . . . familiar about them all.
Safe.
She moved away from Landon and took a step towards the creatures, who shifted towards the two of them slowly. Landon reached out and grabbed her hand again, and she shook it free. Milford’s feathers seemed to ruffle up even more.
“It’s okay,” Leila said, and then looked up at Milford. She reached out and scratched under his chin.
Leila turned, facing the women, who all stared at her curiously.
“This reminds me of the last time,” the one with yellow eyes said. Her voice was rough, like a bushel of sticks being pressed down into a box, crunching and twisting with each word. “Do you remember, sister?”
“I do,” the one with the short, moss-like hair said. Her voice was similar, but warmed up as she spoke, slowly becoming soothing and gentle, like a passing breeze. “But this one is different. Not fully one of us.”
“She’s half,” the golden-eyed woman said, her voice smoothing out, “and she’s family.”
“He wears the colors,” the moss-haired woman said, taking a step forward. “He’s like the last human. Your human, sister.”
The creature that had been speaking to Leila all this time, with her long hair of ivy and leaves, turned to the moss-haired woman quickly, and then back to Leila and Landon, her eyes sad and far away.
“Your questions,” she said, taking a step towards Leila and Landon. “Ask. Few humans come here anymore, save for the caretakers. We have time.”
Leila looked at Landon, who simply nodded.
“Who are you? What are you?” Leila asked.
“We are what your people refer to as dryads, though we’ve had many names. The meliae, the hamadryad, the nymph, the salabhanjika.” As the words grew longer and more complex, they came out more roughly on the creature’s tongue, her mouth twisting to pronounce the words, shaping them slowly and with difficulty.
“That one is my favorite,” the creature with the moss-hair said, a soft smile on her rough, bark-like face.
“As for the who,” the woman with the leafy hair continued. She sighed, and again, the breeze picked up. “I am called Karayea. This is Tifolia.” The creature with the golden eyes nodded. “And this is Shorea.” The moss-haired creature followed suit.
“I . . . am your mother,” the dryad said, a shy smile lighting up on her face. “And Shorea and Tifolia are, I suppose by human custom, your aunts? Yes?”
She looked to the other dryads, who shrugged in response. At least, that’s what it looked like. Their leaves and branches rattled. Leila heard steps behind her as Landon moved to her side.
“You okay?” Landon asked.
“No,” Leila said. “You?”
“Nope,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I’m here though.”
“He is just like the other one,” Tifolia said, looking at Shorea. “A guardian. Brave.”
“He’s different,” Shorea said, shaking her head and branches. “The two of them are much different.”
“Still, I see—” started Tifolia.
“Sisters, please,” Karayea said, her sighs becoming heavier. Leila looked at her, arching an eyebrow, as the dryad’s breathing—if you could call it that—seemed to become heavier, weathered. The dryad staggered back a little, and Tifolia and Shorea walked towards her, their pace slightly quicker, but still slow and measured. The two dryads supported her, and Karayea looked up at Leila, her eyes once again sad, the bright green fading away.
“It becomes . . . difficult, when any of us stray too long from the trees. Over the years, I’ve been using the plants around your city to watch you, and recently, to speak with you. To beckon you here. It has taken much from me,” she said, turning with her sisters and walking back towards the center of the grove. Leila’s heart raced as she watched in realization. The moving flowers. The stretching tree in her yard. The brambles on the path. These things had happened, they had to be happening, because of the dryads here. She looked up at Landon, who stared straight ahead, his eyes wide and breath short. The small owl shook his head, feathers around his neck still agitated.
All three of the dryads reached their respective trees in the grove, and took steps back inside the split trunks. The trees shook as the splits started to seal back up, and the dryads closed their eyes and tilted their heads up towards the canopy as the bark regrew along the splintered wood.
“Hey! Wait!” Leila exclaimed, darting forward. “Wait, I have questions! What’s all this ‘half’ stuff? Why are you talking about Landon like he’s,” she turned and looked at him, baffled, “like he’s part of all of this? I just met him!”
The two trunks holding Tifolia and Shorea sealed up, the leaves and branches of their respective trees rustling as though a gust of wind blasted through them. The center tree, with Karayea in it, remained open with the dryad inside. The tree was sealed up to her waist. She reached a hand out and motioned for the two of them to walk forward.
“There used to be many of us in these woods,” Karayea said. “But our numbers have dwindled. The world around us has grown quiet. The last time we spoke to a human, we discovered we were the last, and the vast wilderness where our kind lived was long torn asunder. He was a lot like you, you know.” Her eyes focused warmly on Landon.
“Me?” Landon asked, stepping forward towards the trees. Milford, as though sensing his discomfort, ruffled his feathers.
“Who?” Leila asked, looking from the baffled Landon to the dryad in the tree.
“Your father,” Karayea said, matter-of-factly. “He protected these woods, wearing the same colors as you.” She sighed, and the wind rustled through the trees around them. “I loved him.”
Leila sat down on the ground. Twigs and leaves pressed against her jeans. She took deep breaths, resisting the urge to just curl up and disappear. Landon knelt down next to her, and she felt a tentative hand on her back. She closed her eyes, unflinching.
“Are you alright, my daughter?” Karayea asked.
Leila looked up at her and immediately shut her eyes, trying to hide the surprising, brewing anger that swirled inside her with a wealth of other emotions, confusion being at the top of the list. Who was this . . . woman? Creature? Weren’t dryads mythological? How was any of this even possible? If it wasn’t for Landon being here with her, if she’d been all alone, this could have been enough to drive her mad. She wouldn’t have believed any of this was even happening.
And the mention of her father.
Not only had she supposedly found her birth mother, but she had some hints about her biological father.