Editing The Dryads

"The feast [[An Oathsworn Circle|our lords]] threw to celebrate their victory over [[Shouting With Iron|the thunderbird]] began early and lasted late; we had a lot to celebrate and the wine overfilled our cups.  As the evening stretched on into night, my sisters and brothers at arms and I stumbled happily away from table, arm in arm, uncorked bottles in our hands.  We sang lusty songs into the night, and the night replied with light laughter.

"Two ladies, dressed in thin gauze [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiton_%28costume%29 chiton], stepped away from the trees on either side of [[Rivers Between Us|Lord River's]] great hall, whispering to each other and laughing still.  They were grown from the same seed, each a copy of the other, with ash-pale skin, green, leafy hair and the most startling emerald eyes I'd ever seen.  I don't know how long we stared, enchanted, before Pu Lao spoke.  'Ladies, who are you?'

"''''Meliae''',' said one and she pressed her berry-red lips together.  ''''Catkin''',' said the other.  'We speak for the trees.'  They stepped towards us, then, running their fingers across our cheeks, and I lost track of which was which.  'Some of them ''are'' pretty, sister,' one said.  'What do you think?'  The other traced her hand down the length of my arm.  'I want this one, and this.  Will you take those?'

"They lead some of us, too enspelled by their beauty to resist, towards their trees.  I don't remember details after that; only that my joy seemed to last forever.  I woke at the next noon, under one of the great oaks and curled into Ami Kang's arm.  We looked at each other and then away, and we saw Nakago Jin and Bi Xi do the same under the other oak.

"We don't talk about that night much, but I've caught everyone in the Alliance pour sweet water onto the oaks' roots from time to time, or kiss their hands to the trunks; simple prayers for the beautiful ladies.  Because we all hope they'll remember and find us again."

-- ''Chi Wen, of [[The Qinglong Alliance]]''


==Spinlters in the Oak's Heart==
Catkin lounged in of her oak's high branches, stretching as the sun kissed her green skin.  The birds sang for her; sweet pipings, a six-note melody that lead towards sleep.  She plucked an acorn from a twig and crushed it delicately in her teeth.  Days like this were made for dryads, and dryads were made for days like this.  But the sharp blare of a trumpet, far below, cut through the peace.

The dryad ran down her oak's trunk and curled her hands into claws.  The tree's branches trembled at her passing.  The train of mortals made their progress past as she touched the ground.  They numbered sixteen and marched armored in formation; another one of [[An Oathsworn Circle|the Solars']] silly war parties.  Three of them, side-by-side, lead the way with their banners.  Two trumpeteers were behind, and then four soldiers bearing a litter, with two more trumpeteers after that.  The remaining five followed after, carrying only their shields.  

The trumpet's song came again, a series of long, low, notes, and Catkin grit her teeth.  She drew her Essence around her to materialize, but a hand on her shoulder held her still.  

"Is your rest more important than their grief?"  Catkin turned to see [[Sweet Voice of Brass and Glory]].  The war goddess had put aside her blue jade armor in favor of layered blue robes, but she still carried her own trumpet belted at her side.  She looked half a turn from tears.

"Grief?"  Catkin glanced back and watched the litter in the middle of the procession; there was a body lying on it in state, covered with a red shroud.  "Who died?"

Both spirits fell into step, unseen, next to the litter.  Sweet Brass stretched out her hand and the wind stirred the cloth.  "One of my priests, of [[The Qinglong Alliance]]."

Catkin gasped when she saw the pretty, dead face.  "Ami Kang."

"You knew her?"

The dryad touched her spectral fingers over the corpse's lips.  "I loved her."

"Such a tender tone for a woman you took but once to your bed."  The two stopped and let the procession pass by without them.  

"I have never taken any to my bed that I did not love."  Catkin's lips twisted to a sneer.  "But what would you know of that, war goddess?  You loved your priestess just enough to let your master march her to her death."

Sweet Brass raised her fist.  "So you can leave your tree to sling insults, at least."  

"What?"  Catkin flinched.   

The war goddess shook her head and dropped her hand.  "You dryads think only things that touch your trees matter.  But look at Ami Kang.  She knew that what happens beyond her house, beyond her range town, could come reach her where she lived.  So she served, to keep her home safe.  You stayed behind, but what happened to her out there came to back to affect you."

Sweet Brass started away down the path, but she turned once to Catkin and her tree.  "Ami Kang's being burned at dusk.  If you're really loved her, if you really loved anyone you've brought into your tree, if you're ready to see the world as they do, you'll be there, and you'll be ready."

The war goddess walked away, while Catkin slipped into her sanctum.  The dryad looked to the dark corner, where lay the bark scales of her lamellar armor and her sharp wooden spear.  The dangers beyond her tree...  That could reach her where she lived...  For Ami Kang's memory, it might be worth a try.


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[[Heaven's Mandate]]
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−	==~~Splinters~~ in the Oak's Heart==	+	==Spinlters in the Oak's Heart==
	Catkin lounged in of her oak's high branches, stretching as the sun kissed her green skin. The birds sang for her; sweet pipings, a six-note melody that lead towards sleep. She plucked an acorn from a twig and crushed it delicately in her teeth. Days like this were made for dryads, and dryads were made for days like this. But the sharp blare of a trumpet, far below, cut through the peace.		Catkin lounged in of her oak's high branches, stretching as the sun kissed her green skin. The birds sang for her; sweet pipings, a six-note melody that lead towards sleep. She plucked an acorn from a twig and crushed it delicately in her teeth. Days like this were made for dryads, and dryads were made for days like this. But the sharp blare of a trumpet, far below, cut through the peace.