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

[puckishly]

A slender shape detaches from one of the trees, steps from the shadows as a boy with tangled hair and bare feet.

He glances around coolly.

"You've done rather well for yourself."

[jack_inthegreen]

The branches creak.

This is my home.

[puckishly]

"Such things are often overrated."

[jack_inthegreen]

Overrated? That I should come to a place of peace when I need it?

[puckishly]

Puck's smile is slight, knife-thin.

"That the place of peace must needs be one's home. Unless, of course, you are given to the rather philosophical claim that one is at home wherever peace dwells-- in which case, you needn't have been so dramatic about things."

A fluid shrug.

"But the place matters, I suppose. What will you do here?"

[jack_inthegreen]

Rest. I will rest.

[puckishly]

He laughs.

"Oh? Has the lack of winter sleep caught up with you?"

[jack_inthegreen]

One of many bad decisions I have made lately. Yes.

[puckishly]

Puck glances up at him, terribly interested.

And blinks slowly, twice.

"I shouldn't have thought it of you."

[jack_inthegreen]

The tree sways.

The wind blows a little colder.

Krishna says I am forgetful. I am forgetful. I forget how much it hurts to watch mortals slip away. I forget how strong evil can be. I forget how little it matters, making things grow.

[puckishly]

The wind ruffles his hair, but doesn't seem to faze him otherwise. The wide-eyed sincerity gives way to another little smile.

"Mortals die. Darkness has its ebb."

The smile turns wry.

"And if you're looking for permanence, I rather think you've chosen the wrong place."

[jack_inthegreen]

Nothing lasts forever.

I know this.

At least here it doesn't ache so much.

[puckishly]

"Did it ache to begin with, or because you find you've forgotten?"

[jack_inthegreen]

The tree sways.

It has always ached. Sometimes I forget how much.

Sometimes I remember.

[puckishly]

Puck tilts his head to the side, hands slipping into his pockets.

"And are you better, do you think, to remember what grieves you? Driving you here as it does?"

The question is an honest one, at least for the moment.

[jack_inthegreen]

I am not here to be 'better'. I am here just to be.