In the beginning, there were the idyllic wilds and precious else but the sprawling, splendid boughs of Mother Oak. Her roots sprawled deep into the earth's hidden marrow while her branches stretched toward an unmarred sky. Even then, she was ancient. In her boughs, the essence of creation stirred, whispering a longing for more. For a moment, the forest held its breath, the winds stilled, and the moonlight sharpened into something expectant.
Mother Oak stirred under the silver glow of the newly born moon. Her branches trembled, alive with purpose. From the highest boughs, she plucked a strand of moonlight, weaving it with dewdrops that glistened like liquid diamonds. She twisted the fibers of her bark into a spine, wrapping it with tendrils of ivy until it pulsed like veins beneath the skin. Leaves cascaded from her crown, spinning into shimmering locks of hair.
From her roots, she drew up clay kissed by the molten heart of the earth, shaping hands to feel and feet to wander. She filled the hollow form with a deep, timeless breath, sparking it to life.
Eyes opened - green as the first spring - and a soft and curious voice crooned into existence. A child stood there, fragile yet eternal, bathed in soft, ethereal light, a being caught between earth and starlight. Mother Oak watched in silent reverence as the child stumbled forward, their first steps echoing like whispers through the forest. Around them, the wilds responded with flowers unfurling in bloom, streams bubbling in joyful song, and the wind carrying their name, though no one had yet spoken it.
Mother Oak reached one mighty branch to rest upon the child's shoulder, a silent blessing. Though she spoke no words, her presence resonated with the child: an eternal bond, a promise that wherever they wandered, the wilds would be with them, fierce and infinite. The child leaned their head against the branch on their shoulder and raised their hands to embrace the only part of their mother they knew. The child closed their eyes and listened to the forest sounds, matching their breathing with the wind. As the child's chest rose and fell, the wind breathed harmoniously with the child.
The child sighed quietly, reveling in the experience of feeling and being. There was so much to soak in simply by virtue of existing - a profound richness in every sensation that flowed through their new form.
The feeling of the ground beneath their feet anchored them solidly to the earth, a reassuring weight that steadied their delicate frame. Their toes curled instinctively, sinking into the soft dirt, tracing the subtle textures of moss and roots hidden beneath the surface. It was as if they could sense the heartbeat of the world below - a vast, interconnected web of life thrumming with energy and purpose. The roots of the trees reached out, unseen but palpable. The child marveled at how their skin tingled with the cool kiss of dew-laden air and how their chest expanded and contracted with each effortless breath. They were not merely standing on the earth - they felt a part of it, and it was a part of them. The boundary between self and world seemed to blur, dissolving into the profound realization that their being was inextricably intertwined with the endless rhythm of life. The child closed their eyes again, letting the moment wash over them, reveling in the simple yet profound act of being alive.
Mother Oak spoke into the mind of her firstborn, her voice a resonant symphony of rustling leaves, the hum of ancient roots, and the gentle sigh of wind through the branches. It was not a voice, but a timeless melody woven from the essence of the wild itself. Her words did not merely echo in the child's mind - they unfurled like petals of a blooming flower, vivid and alive, carrying layers of meaning that transcended language.
"You are my breath made flesh; my roots unbound. In you lies the memory of all that has been and the promise of all that will come. As you walk the earth, carry the wild within you."
The child's green eyes widened as the message settled into their very essence, not as an instruction but as an instinct. They felt the weight and wonder of their purpose - an eternal bond with the land, the sky, and the life between them.
"The rivers shall sing your name," Mother Oak continued, "and the winds shall guide your steps. The wilds are your kin, and their song is your song. Wherever you wander, the forest will be with you. Protect it, nurture it, and let it shape you as I have shaped you."
The child closed their eyes, letting the voice flow through them like the roots drinking deep from the earth. Each word was a seed, taking root in the soil of their spirit. They felt the pull of the earth beneath their feet, the pulse of life in the trees around them, and the vast sky above - a trinity of forces bound within them.
"But know this, my firstborn," Mother Oak whispered, her tone both tender and resolute, "to live is to change, and to change is to grow. You will face the sharp winds of loss and the shadows of doubt, but remember, even the fallen leaf nourishes the soil for what is to come. You are the bridge, the balance, the song. Trust in the wild, and you shall never falter."
The child pressed their hands to the rough bark of their mother's branch, their form glowing brighter with each word. A single tear, luminous and crystalline, slipped down their cheek, falling to the ground like a sacred blessing. The forest seemed to exhale in unison, its countless voices murmuring a shared understanding.
"I hear you, Mother," the child finally replied, their voice trembling with awe but steady with resolve, "Your song is my song, your breath my breath. I will carry your essence wherever I tread, and I will protect all that is yours."
As the words left the child's lips, the forest stirred as if rejoicing. A cascade of leaves swirled down from Mother Oak's branches, wrapping the child in a verdant embrace. When the leaves fell away, the child stood taller, their glow steadier, their eyes reflecting the boundless green of the wilds.
Mother Oak's voice faded, not into silence, but into the eternal hum of the forest itself - a reminder that she was always present in every rustling leaf, every sighing wind, and every pulse of the earth beneath the child's feet.
Slowly, the child stepped forward, breaking from the embrace of the branches that had cradled them. A gentle laugh escaped their lips, ringing through the forest like a bell.
The child threw up their hands, fingers splayed to catch the sky, and drank a breath so deep it stirred the moss at their feet. With a voice of thunder, they cried, "I am the forest, and the forest is me!" The wind took their words like a vow, flinging them through the trees and over the hills, until the wild itself rumbled back, "So mote it be."