oom: Jack comes home

[jack_inthegreen]

The forests of Britain are not what they once were. It was said a squirrel could cross from Newcastle to Dover and never touch the ground--but those days are long gone.

Still, what remains of the forests feels much the same to the one who knows them. Their voices are familiar, comforting--many are old friends who remember him from seed and acorn.

Comments

[mellowout_]

One should always simply Be.

But then, it's easier for some than others.

A long elegant dragon flows through the wood and coils around his friend.

Hello.

[jack_inthegreen]

Hello.

His branches sway in greeting.

[mellowout_]

The dragon slithers among them.

You always did find the most beautiful forests.

[jack_inthegreen]

They are all beautiful. Hard woods or soft, primeval or new, evergreen or annual . . . they are all more beautiful than words can express.

[sheila_nagig]

[OOC: A bit belatedly perhaps, but ... we really don't know what to say :D]

Níl aon tintéan mar do thintéan féin.
There's no place like home.
There's a soft breeze that accompanies her presence as she simply appears in his branches, looking like she used to look when he first saw her; like life itself.

Come on, brotherfatherloverJack. Listen to them. They've missed you. What's got you moping?

[jack_inthegreen]

[ooc: :).]

He looks like he must have the day the world began, tall and autumn-colored and perhaps a bit melancholy.

"How much they love me and how little I deserve it."

[sheila_nagig]

Melancholy because while he had the world, he hadn't friends or family but for the animals who came to worship at his feet; the plants that rose from the earth to touch him?

Why, then, look melancholy? Now that he has family of his own flesh and blood who know him and love him as he is, flaws and perfections and all.

You're a fool. Who deserves it, if not you?

She's a bud, a leaf; nothing more and nothing less, compared to him, and she takes comfort in him, letting her fingers and toes root themselves in him.

You gave life to the earth. You gave life to your daughter. Why are you questioning your place in the world?

[jack_inthegreen]

"Because I don't know where it is anymore.

"I am guardian and lord and yet there is so little I can do."

[oneman_onevote]

A boy lies along a high branch in an oak tree.

Greengrey shadows flicker across his pale face, almost blending with the shades of his clothing.

He watches, but says nothing for now.

[jack_inthegreen]

The branches creak, the tree sways.

It's a quiet forest.

[oneman_onevote]

It is.

Havelock likes the quiet, the peace.

So is it really necessary to speak to say hello?

No. He didn't think so.

[jack_inthegreen]

No, of course it isn't.

Particularly if you're just interested some company rather than conversation.

Trees are very good listeners.

[leftthecradle]

There is a horse pacing alongside the treeman/mantree. A graceful, dapple-grey mare. If one has seen the Ranger's ward, they might recognize the adult Cai will grow into.

And perched on her back (without saddle or bridle) is...well, he's been here before.

Where are you going?

It's strange. Although the mare is going along at a brisk flat-walk, she doesn't seem to move from the side of the massive figure of Jack.

[jack_inthegreen]

Nowhere--I'm already here.

[leftthecradle]

A sly chuckle.

Are you so sure?

He murmurs something to the mare. Her ears flick back for a second...then she stops. When she does, horse and rider slide back into the forest as if they are on a boat floating on a swift but invisible river.

Or maybe the forest itself is moving and they're no longer keeping up?

[jack_inthegreen]

The tree is standing still.

He can't vouch for anyplace else.

[gris_bug_man]

"It's very beautiful here."

Gil is there, resting against his trunk.

He may have been there the entire time.

[jack_inthegreen]

He would have seen some very strange things if he has.

Gil.

The leaves rustle it, the branches creak it, the wind hums it.

Gil.

[gris_bug_man]

"Did you find what you sought?"

[jack_inthegreen]

The tree shrugs itself off and Jack--for he is always Jack, somehow, no matter what other face and name he's bearing today--stands before him.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I'm not sure what I left to find."