CherryBlossoms

art by: squeakthecricket

sakura flower crown
sakura flowerfall
flowering glade boughs
sakura wing garland
pearly earrings of chemistry
soft pink leg silks
soft pink silk sash
pink satin tunic
demure faderose knickers
demure faderose bodice
soft pink wing silks
sakura lei
soft pink silk scarf
soft pink tail bangle
desert dynasty tail rings
soft pink silk veil
pearly amulet of chemistry
desert dynasty cuffs
sakura tail lei

---

The young Coatl was a savvy thief, skilled at sneaking into places unnoticed. He wasn’t after treasure now, however—he was looking for his father.

Old Tokage’s visions of grandeur had gotten the better of him. He’d led an ill-fated raid against the Mix of Misfits, and Boone had returned home to find his father’s band severely depleted, many of the thieves having deserted after their leader’s disappearance. The second-in-command, Howlett, was still around, but Boone knew that she would also leave once the opportunity presented itself.

Well, never mind her. He would go and get his father back, maybe nick some treasures while he was in the Shadowlands....

Nighttime—between moonset and dawn. Boone had arrived on the mainland some days ago. He’d gone around the strange brown fog and was now in the forest outside the Mix of Misfits’ lair. Here, the trees were a labyrinth all on their own, all twisted branches and gnarled roots. He pushed a curtain of moss aside and glimpsed a pale patch nearby. Intrigued, he slithered towards it.

A cherry blossom tree. It was dwarfed by the surrounding cypress trees, but its small form was graceful, the branches seemingly frozen in an elegant dance. The flowers gleamed in the gloom, bright pink against the dullness of the swamp.

There was the faintest of rustles, a giggle, and Boone glimpsed a small face peering at him from among the branches. A dryad...small fare, really. Boone had dealt with dryads before. They weren’t too strong, and while they could be dangerous in numbers, this one seemed to be alone.

She also seemed to have taken root near the Mix of Misfits’ lair. Boone tried the charming approach: “Oh, hello, missy. Lovely night, innit?”

From among the blossoms, that face reappeared: dark brown, crowned with a mane of inky hair. Her eyes, sparkling in the dimness, were the same rich pink as the flowers.

“Hello, stranger,” she purred back, in a voice that was just as delicate and sweet as she looked. She crept further out to get a better look at Boone.

“I’ve heard there’s a clan of dragons nearby. Would they be willing to accommodate a poor, lost traveler tonight?” He pulled a sad face. If this dryad was one of the Misfits’ familiar, then perhaps he could convince her to guide him to the lair. Worst-case scenario, she would sound the alarm, but Boone had had alarms rung in his face before and he’d gotten away every time. A lone dryad like this wouldn’t be able to do much.

The dryad sat on the branch, swinging her legs idly. “No,” she sighed, and Boone’s face fell. He told her, “Well, that’s all right. I can just—”

“But you can stay with me, can’t you?” The dryad clasped her tiny hands together. “Please stay! So many dragons come past, but nobody stays with me.” She pouted petulantly. “Nobody dares.”

“Well, I can certainly make time for a charming thing like you!” Boone’s laugh was more genuine now. Really, why was he in a hurry to find his father? He could lead the thieves just as well...

Besides, it was warm by the tree, and the dryad was pleasant company. Sitting here for a while would be much better than tramping through the putrid swamp. And if the dryad was someone’s familiar, it would look good if they saw Boone keeping her company. Yes, he could stay. It was so nice here, under the tree...

“I could tell you a story. Would you like that?” And when Boone nodded, the dryad dropped low, hanging upside-down to peer at him. He couldn’t help pressing back against the trunk. The movement was so sudden, and with her hair tumbling around her face, the dryad’s lovely eyes and smile were invisible.

“You’re looking for someone. I can see it in your face.”

“Eh?” The Coatl automatically pressed his paws against his cheeks.

The dryad laughed. She swung away from him, and her face was radiant once more. “So let me tell you a story of a dragon looking for other dragons! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Unsure what else to do, Boone nodded again. The dryad settled comfortably above him. Although Boone didn’t concentrate on the actual words of her story, the images unfolded in his mind. He found himself transported into the desolation of the Plaguelands....

~ ~ ~
How vast is the Scarred Wasteland? The answer is always ”vaster than you think.”

It stretches for miles, red earth bleeding into brown, into black. Over the years, the merciless sun has baked the earth, twisting it as though it were a dishrag. Instead of creases and folds, there are peaks and valleys. They are innumerable, the folds of the Scarred Wasteland, a maze rivalling the Viridian Labyrinth.

It is inevitable that people are lost here. Lone travelers. Caravans. Clans. Entire empires’ worth of people have gone missing in the Scarred Wasteland.

It’s equally inevitable that others would go looking for them. In the case of Felix, it was scientific curiosity that spurred him. He’d read about a lost city buried somewhere deep beneath the blood-red ground. If he could unearth it—why, it would be the find of the century! So off he went, together with a small team of other archaeologists.

Felix led his team into the uncharted wilds of the Wasteland. They managed to evade monstrous beasts and plants, dangerous topographical features, and clans that would have got them. Deep into the maze they went, deeper and deeper and deeper...

“There it is!” the scout called out. Felix and the rest peered forward, and beyond the crest of the next hill, they saw a great, deep valley. It was so deep light barely reached the bottom, but at the center of it, something shone vivid pink, like a newly-opened rose.

Felix beamed. “This is it,” he told his team, and he explained it to them as they glided down the slope. He had a sketch, copied from an old book, that showed the same thing: a deep, dark valley with a solitary tree in the middle.

“It’s believed that this valley once held a great city, which was home to many dragons. A civil war broke out, and the city dissolved into factions that slowly exterminated each other over the years. The city has since been lost—I reckon it’s buried underneath the ground, along with many of its inhabitants.”

“What about the tree?” a junior archaeologist asked. Felix shrugged. “Ancient records speak of such trees growing upon sites where great battles once raged. They were probably left by the survivors as monuments or warnings. Superstition, you know, believing that tree spirits watch over the dead...”

They reached the valley floor, and they began to dig. They dug with tools and with their own great magic, and some days later—

“Boss! We’ve found something!”

Felix’s smile could’ve lit the whole valley. “Keep digging, everyone! Let’s show this grand city to the rest of the world!”

It was the find of the century! Their speculations had been correct and they’d made a great discovery. It was amazing, and they were happy, very happy...

They were so happy that they started to make mistakes.

As the days crawled past, they uncovered more of the old city. They magicked away whole tons of earth to reveal the domed buildings moldering beneath. “Where are the people, though?” a Guardian muttered one day.

Felix blinked blearily at her. The air seemed to shimmer with heatwaves. “I don’t know. Maybe they ran away...There was fighting, right?”

He kept blinking. Something was wrong. “Arista, where’s Jewelclaw?”

“Mm?” She barely looked up from where she was shoveling away the soil. Felix tried again: “Where is he? Your Charge?”

The Guardian’s green eyes widened, and she turned away, calling out her Charge’s name.

The dragons dug so deeply that they uncovered whole streets. They had been buried so far beneath the ground that when the archaeologists strode down them, the buildings, rearing far above, blocked out most of the light. They would follow the winding roads for minutes...and hours...

“Jewelclaw? Felix says it’s time to head back to camp....Jewelclaw?”

...and even for days...

“Ramsay, where were you?!”

“I couldn’t find the camp....I kept forgetting where it was, I swear!”

“It’s OK, you’re fine now. Here, have a drink. Wait...The water. We’ve run out....”

“Don’t panic, Delfina! We dug a well when we first came here, remember? But who drank the last jug anyway? Such a wretched mistake...”

“Yes, a mistake, that’s all it was. Someone else made a mistake....”

They dug in a vast circle all around the perimeter of the valley, uncovering more buildings and streets. But never any bodies. They couldn’t find the bodies of those who’d dwelled there long ago.

And one by one but surely, the mistakes kept piling up....

“You used up all of the flour! How could you?! That was to have lasted us until next week!”

“Ramsay can fly back to the last town we stopped at. I’ve got a map....Where is it? It was with my other notes, I’m certain....”

“Perhaps you just forgot it somewhere. Look harder!”

“More importantly, where is Ramsay?”

“Maybe he went back together with...He was my...Why can’t I remember?”

Forgotten places, forgotten things. Forgotten names. Forgotten people...

“Let’s dig. Towards the center.”

Felix turned. The Nocturne seemed to have aged decades in the past two weeks, and he peered blearily at Arista. The Guardian was swaying gently, as if stricken by some great fever, and she was looking past him.

“We haven’t looked there yet. Let’s dig...closer. Towards the tree...”

“You’ll dig where I tell you to!” Felix snapped at her. He couldn’t explain why, but something about that tree made his scales crawl. Alarm bells jangled in his head every time he so much as looked at it. True, it was so delicate and graceful, and the blossoms smelled so sweet, and yet...

He looked at Arista’s face, and then he shoved her shoulder. “Over there! See, there’s a patch we haven’t touched. Let’s look there!”

“Yes, Professor,” Arista murmured. But even though her body was moving, her head swiveled around, her eyes fixed on the tree. Felix’s heart sank.

They kept on digging. It was just the two of them now. Felix didn’t want to ask why, and Arista seemed beyond asking. She no longer remembered those who’d disappeared, not even her Charge....

~ ~ ~
A slap resounded through the clearing: Boone had smacked a mosquito that’d landed on his leg. He hissed as the scent of his own blood tainted the air.

“You don’t like my story?” the dryad asked. She sounded mournful. Boone reassured her, “It’s a very nice story! It’s just—”

He stopped short. What was he doing, encouraging this simpleminded creature to tell him stories? He was on dangerous territory and had come here on a mission. He didn’t have time for this!

“Yes, ahem...I’d better get going. It was nice meeting...” The Coatl attempted to rise, but found himself unable to do so. His limbs and tail felt heavy. “I was sitting down for...hours? My limbs have fallen asleep. Or gotten tangled...”

“No...Stay!” the dryad entreated him. She crept closer as Boone wriggled halfheartedly among the tree roots. “You want to know how the story ends, don’t you?”

“Not really, no. W...What is this?” Boone’s questing paws encountered only wood: a thick tendril of it, wrapped around his leg. He laughed almost drunkenly. “Oh, that’s a nice trick. You’ll let me go now, missy.”

“No! Stay!” She placed her tiny palms on his arm. “Staaaaayyy...”

The last word was drawn out in an impossible sigh, so long and deep that it shook the very air. The shadows seemed to waver....The dryad was right up against Boone now, peering deep into his face. He could see himself reflected in her eyes, see his face as she reared up and back, her fingers tightening around his arm as she grew and grew....

“No one ever stays,” sighed the monstrous wyrm, and this time it was whispered in a triumphant sneer. Boone flopped in her claws like a deboned fish. “No one dares.”

And she opened her mighty, crimson-fanged maw.

~ ~ ~
The sun beat down on the Scarred Wasteland. Its light, however, failed to reach the archaeologists’ camp. Tools lying forgotten, empty supply boxes. And a lone Nocturne, hacking mindlessly at the sand.

“Got to keep digging. Gotta dig...” Even though he barely remembered why anymore.

“I oughta leave.” And yet he didn’t. He dug deeper and deeper as day by day, more blossoms opened and perfumed the air....

At last there came a day when the cherry tree was in full bloom and Felix’s eyes were drawn towards it. He trudged slowly over, his pickaxe in hand.

He struck the earth. Dark liquid welled up, staining his claws. As he dug, he heard a voice—

“Do you want to know how it really ended? The city, the dragons...all of it?” A small hand reached down, patted his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I...already know.”

“Ah. Why don’t you leave, then?”

“I can’t,” he gasped, in truthful misery. And the air was quiet once more, except for his pickaxe biting into the sand.

Felix’s mind cleared enough for him to remember his magic. He murmured a spell, and the earth quivered. It lifted up in great blocks, exposing the roots of the tree—

—and entangled among them, irrevocably fused, the skeletons. Thousands of them, from empires past, woven among the tendrils. A ball of earth and bones, several meters across and who knew how high, from which the cherry tree grew.

His colleagues were in that diabolical graveyard; he didn’t doubt that now. They had disappeared one by one, vanishing down excavated streets, digging into their own deep trenches.

And now—“It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

There was no answer. It didn’t really matter; he was exhausted from all the digging, anyway. He lay down at the base of the tree, and he closed his violet eyes.

The valley remained silent all through that night. But towards dawn, there was a rumbling in the ground. The tree’s roots heaved, and the earth began to move. Tons of it were swept back into the trenches, where they covered the buildings and artifacts. The very ground heaved and shifted like a swiftly-rising tide.

When dawn came again, there were no more traces of the old city, nor of the archaeologists who’d come in search of it. There was only a solitary cherry tree in the middle of the valley—and dark earth, empty and featureless, waiting to be baked into solidity by the arid air once more.


~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNz5502301Y


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