Winter is almost over. It’ll be spring soon.
The slightly hasty ones are already sprouting. The snow and ice melted long ago, and now even those who were hibernating are slowly waking up.
“But why won’t this wake up?”
Miros still hasn’t woken up. Thinking the place might be uncomfortable, I laid out soft straw like a human bed and obtained lots of thick sheep’s wool too.
I heard humans need to eat three times a day, but isn’t this one hungry? I’m continuously supplying vitality, but isn’t eating a separate matter?
I tapped Miros’s cheek, who was still just lying there.
“Hurry and wake up. If you don’t wake up, I can’t fix you.”
Miros is still the same as back then. A hideous appearance with no eyes and no arm. But I can’t help it. Because I need to ask Miros.
I need to ask if it’s okay for me to make them.
Humans are fragile. Miros is a hatchling so they’re even more fragile, and they’re much smaller than the average individual. If I make them on my own, they won’t be able to handle the power and will melt away.
That’s why permission is needed. Only when they accept to receive me, my power, can I use my strength for them. Miros is too weak, far too weak for me to do it on my own.
Even a newborn chick would be sturdier than this.
Actually, even sharing strength now, I’m being extremely careful. If I thoughtlessly infuse vitality, they’ll burst. Pop—just like that. That’s how weak they are.
I stroked Miros’s face and said.
“I’m waiting like this. Hurry and wake up.”
I heard the story roughly, though only a bit, from the small plant.
I don’t know well, but apparently that pack of humans called Gellan demanded excessive wealth beyond what they originally received from Miros. They suspected that because I visited, the money had increased.
When Miros, who had prepared money, said they couldn’t give any more, they cut off the arm. Then saying it would become money, they gouged out the eyes and took them. That was the end.
Humans gouge out their kin’s eyes to obtain this thing called money. It’s new but still an incomprehensible act. I’ll let it go that this wealth called money is used as a means of transaction, but what on earth are they going to do with the eyes?
It’s true that Miros’s eyes were pretty, but if it’s just the eyes, they’re just squishy organic matter. They’re not even food, and just rolling around the eyes alone isn’t pretty either. It would be more credible if they’d captured Miros instead.
Humans really only do incomprehensible things.
“Or do you hate me? Because I stole you? Or are you angry I went when you told me not to?”
Are they not waking up because they hate me? I don’t really know.
I wish Miros would wake up quickly. I want to make them pretty again. I want to see pretty Miros.
***
Now it’s spring by anyone’s standards. It’s the season when all kinds of plants and trees wake up and open their eyes.
The impatient ones bloom flowers first. From the base of that mountain ridge to the peak where my nest is. All kinds of flowers like plum blossoms and acacias bloom and new buds sprout.
Today too, I waited for Miros.
“You should wake up now. You sleepyhead.”
Everyone woke up long ago, yet they’re still sleeping alone. I stroked sleeping Miros’s cheek. Soft and warm. No fur, no scales—I don’t know what the world’s weakest thing trusts to be this soft. I really don’t know how these things survive.
Won’t they wake up today either? I was about to get up after fidgeting for a while, when Miros’s eye area twitched and moved. And the remaining other hand wriggled. Huh? Are they waking up?
“Miros? Are you waking up?”
Are they finally waking up? I stopped trying to get up and crouched down again. And looked down at small Miros. I looked at Miros with a pounding heart.
Miros, who had been twitching, began to move very slowly. I held my breath and watched. Miros opened their eyes, but there was nothing inside the eyelids. Only an empty space occupies the place. Miros, who blinked their eyelids a few times, touched above their eyes with their hand. Then their finger went inside.
Miros, who had been fidgeting with the empty place, suddenly let out a scream.
“Uh, uh, uhhh—? Wha, what, is this? Why?”
They must be very startled—the words they’re spitting out are a mess. I asked while grabbing Miros’s one hand that was flailing about frantically.
“Miros. You’re awake, right?”
“Who? Who is it? Why? What is this?”
“I was waiting.”
I spoke as carefully as I could, but was Miros startled by that too? They trembled like an aspen tree and sat down in place. Making finally waking up feel futile.
“Am I, dead?”
“Did you want to die by any chance? If so, I’m sorry. I saved you.”
Did Miros want to die? Did that adult kin help for that reason? Then I did something I should be sorry for. I saved and stole them without even knowing that.
But that doesn’t seem to be it. Miros shook their head.
“No, no…. Th-thank you. For saving me, thank you. But actually….”
Miros clasped the hand I was holding and clung to me.
“Who, who are you?”
“Levia-Rishian. Remember? I came to see you every day.”
“…Is it you?”
“Yeah.”
Thank goodness. They haven’t forgotten me. The way they cling while trembling is pitiful beyond words. Already small, they look even smaller.
Before I knew it, Miros’s voice was soaked with moisture. Tears gushed out from the empty eyes.
“I can only move one hand.”
“Well, right now you only have one hand.”
“I can’t see ahead either.”
“Because you don’t have eyes.”
“But I’m, alive?”
“That’s right.”
Miros is crying quietly. I had things to ask right away when they woke up, but with them crying so sorrowfully, it’s hard to speak. What should I do? Then, Miros clinging to my arm opened their mouth.
“Why did you save me?”
“Because you’re pretty.”
“I have no eyes, no arm. I’ve become a cripple—what on earth is pretty?”
“I’m going to make you pretty again. That’s why I stole you.”
Is there reason to be this sad over just missing eyes and one arm? I don’t really know. Though it’s a fatal weakness for survival, I thought they’d be happy to be alive, but they’re just shedding tears, so I’m flustered.
“You’re really a weird one. You know?”
“Humans are stranger to me.”
“I, I…. What should I do now?”
Since the place where the eyes were is empty, I finally remembered why I was waiting for Miros.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I was waiting to ask that.”
How foolish. To almost forget this. The child cried so much that even I got flustered. I swept back Miros’s disheveled hair and asked.
“Miros. I’m going to ask you something important now.”
“At a time like this?”
“I want to fix you again. For that, you need to give permission.”
Actually, even calling it permission is strange. I’m the one bestowing it, yet the one receiving needs to give permission.
But it can’t be helped. Only when they say they’ll receive my power, that they’ll accept me, can I safely restore Miros.
Because Miros is very small and fragile. If I pour out power on my own, they’ll die.
Before I knew it, dryads had gathered around Miros and me in a cluster. They seem to have gathered out of curiosity about Miros, whom I’ve been looking in on and caring for every day recently.
—Human woke up. Small human woke up.
“Um? Uh, Levia? Don’t you hear something like wind sounds?”
“They’re dryads. They flocked over seeing you wake up.”
“Dry…, what? What’s that?”
—Progenitor strange. That not pretty. Why pretty?
“They’re spirits. For reference, the main bodies of the dryads here are oak trees, which are my origin.”
“No, what’s that…. No no, that’s not what’s important right now.”
Miros made the motion of looking around even though they have no eyes. I heard that humans retain habits for a long time even when their body parts are lost—Miros must be like that too. Miros grabbed and clung to my hand almost clawing at it.
“Can you fix it? Me? I, right now, I have no eyes, and no arm… either.”
“I can do it. Ah, would mages or witches be able to too? Probably possible. They’re also faint, but they’re ones who can use the world’s miracles. But the ones I knew already crossed over to the other side of eternity….”
“No no, I don’t care about that.”
Miros shed tears again that had barely been stopping.
“You can, do it?”
“Yeah. If you give permission.”
“What do I, how… should I do it?”
Ah, I didn’t think that far. What should I do? I didn’t consider the most important thing.
Some druids sometimes believe in and pray to me, who am not a god. I think it’s because I’m the proof of plants and trees. But Miros isn’t a druid, right? They’ve never been taught, so they wouldn’t know such prayer methods either.
The dryads? But these were born as spirits from the start. Plus, since I’m the progenitor of their main bodies, there’s nothing particular. What method should I use for humans?
“Um, uh… that method thing, is it difficult?”
“Sorry, I was thinking for a moment. Wondering what to do with a human.”
“…Really, you weren’t, human?”
“I’ve said many times, I’m not human.”
“You really were, a god?”
“I’m not a god either. Though there are quite a few individuals who pray to me and offer faith, I’m just something old.”
What should I do? I should have thought about it while Miros was asleep, but foolishly focused on waiting and didn’t prepare the most important thing. I carefully stroked Miros with my other hand.
“Kiss me and say it out loud.”
“What should I say?”
“Um…. First I’ll tell you the prayer druids give to me. Try following along.”
Form and such aren’t important. What’s important is whether Miros wants to receive my power or not. The act of saying they’ll receive it itself is what’s important. No matter how insignificant and trivial it may be.
Miros hesitated, then lightly kissed the back of my hand they were holding. Watching that, I began to tell them what came to mind.
“O Progenitor of Oak, Proof of All Nature. Grant me your miracle. I am your guardian and eternal love.”
“…Do I have to become a druid too?”
Could they think that? What unique thinking. I said with a smile.
“No. Actually there were many who weren’t druids, and there weren’t particularly any who really protected me or loved me. Most of them didn’t even know what I was in the first place. It’s just asking to borrow power.”
“Then you just give it?”
“Mostly? There weren’t any asking for something tremendous, and it’s at a very minor level, so I just gave it most of the time.”
“What do you receive?”
“Nothing. What meaning would there be in me receiving something from weak ones? If they’re grateful and say they’ll reciprocate, that’s admirable, but even if they don’t return it, I never wanted such things.”
