Soon, their forms blended with the whispering undergrowth and vanished from sight. Left alone, Tabitha delved into her shoulder bag with urgency, her fingers searching until they clasped a small mirror. Bending slightly, she scrutinized her reflection, focusing intently on the space between her eyes, measuring it with a thumb and index finger.
The Yoshvei haYa'arot, known to many simply as Druids for their deep bond with nature, stand distinctly apart from humans. Towering at least half again as tall as their human kin, their faces are marked by wide-set eyes, deep in their skulls, thin lips, and sharply hewn cheekbones that lend an angular, austere cast. Most distinctive, however, are their horns, sweeping like the antlers of elk, a feature that sets them starkly apart from humanity. Yet the differences between humans and druids extend beyond mere appearances: druids are inherently connected to the earth and the essence of living nature, which endows them with abilities that remain largely beyond the grasp of ordinary humans.
Thirteen years ago, Tabitha's features, though typical among Druids, were an anomaly within this human enclave. When she and Baruch, her consort, ventured from the verdant seclusion of the Ancient Forest—the heartland of their kind—and settled in this village, their unique visages stirred the local populace into a mixture of curiosity and fear. Yet, despite the initial mistrust, the two druids had garnered respect over time. Druids, with their inherent power in stark contrast to human frailty, possess unique abilities that foster growth and dispel hunger, and this nature-bestowed boon, particularly potent under Tabitha's care, had nurtured a once-fading village plagued with diseases into a thriving bastion of prosperity.
Tabitha carelessly tossed the mirror back into her bag, murmuring, "My eyes are normal... perfectly normal." She exhaled deeply, her breath seeming to scatter the lingering shadows of fatigue and irritation. For a fleeting moment, she stilled, as if to engrave this brief peace into her memory forever.
"Forgive the commotion, Ha'Etz." she whispered, her focus returning to the task at hand—the young tree before her. Tabitha pressed her forehead against the rough, comforting bark of the young oak, her eyes closing gently. Beneath her touch, a subtle pulse of life vibrated, threading through her veins, syncing her heartbeat with the quiet, persistent rhythm of the tree.
Her essence—a radiant, life-giving force—trickled from the very depths of her being, traveled a painstaking journey from her grounded feet, surged upward through her core, and into the welcoming embrace of the oak. From there, it delved into the roots, a quiet blessing that seeped further into the earth itself. But today, this ritual required more of her than ever before. While this slow healing would ordinarily span several weeks under any druid’s hands, Tabitha had pushed herself beyond the normal limits, trying to do in hours what might otherwise take seasons. She had drawn out her essence with a dangerous intensity, hoping to restore what had waned during her absence in a single, relentless sweep. Every blade of grass, every budding flower she coaxed back to life seemed to pull another ounce of strength from her.
As the sun pursued its slow journey across the sky, Tabitha remained steadfast, a solitary figure bound to her sacred task. The transformation she wrought in the grove was a testament to hours of silent toil, a labor of love and duty that left the earth thrumming with renewed life.
Yet, the toll of her efforts was evident. A sharp headache, a reminder of the physical cost of her immense power, gnawed at her. Exhausted, Tabitha leaned back from the tree, her strength waning, forcing her to brace herself with shaking hands against the cool earth. "Almost done," she murmured, her voice echoing her resolve despite the overwhelming fatigue that enveloped her.
The vitality of the land within this settlement had diminished markedly during Tabitha's extended absence, necessitating a deep infusion of energy for its revival. Tabitha had poured countless hours into this ritual, tirelessly repeating it, each iteration a layer upon her sacred duty. The process of rejuvenating nature demanded that she exhaust her physical and mental reserves repeatedly, a burden that weighed heavily on her, both physically and emotionally. Despite her formidable resilience, the strain was immense, and tears began their slow descent down her cheeks, each a silent testament to her sacrifice.
In the midst of her fatigue, an unexpected comfort appeared. A cool, tender touch, delicate yet reassuring, with a rustle wiped away her tears and placed an apple in her palm, offering consolation. It was a branch of the same tree opposite her, to which she had devoted countless hours in recent days, and there was a reason why Tabitha chose this particular plant among others to heal the lands of these lands - this is no ordinary plant.
Throughout the myriad cultures and few races, such trees bear different monikers. To the druids, they are called ha'etz ha'magen, but the term most commonly accepted elsewhere is "druidic tree." These beings are not mere flora but sentient entities teeming with life, capable of love, pain, fear, and joy. This truth, though, is apparent only to druids, who possess a unique ability to communicate with all forms of life, whether animal, human, or botanical.
To the untrained eye, the difference between ha'etz ha'magen and their common brethren might remain hidden, relegating these venerable beings to mere instruments in druidic rites. Yet, such a view scratches only the surface of their profound, age-old relationships that mirror the familial bonds of parents and children. For centuries, the ha'etz ha'magen have cradled druids as their own kin, endowing them with protection, wisdom, and an innate power, fostering a righteousness and might seldom reached by other races. Now, at the zenith of their flourishing, druids, cultivated by the very essence of nature, stand as its most formidable protectors.
"Thank you, Ha'Etz." Tabitha murmured, her cheek resting against the comforting bark as she savored the apple freshly bestowed upon her. This tree was planted by a druid couple shortly after they made their home here, a gesture of planting roots in a foreign land. As years passed and they tended to it, the sentient tree grew and began reciprocating their care, becoming a stalwart ally in their endeavors.
Tabitha reluctantly allowed herself a brief pause, her back against the youthful tree, methodically enjoying the apple slices. Her eyes wandered upwards through the gaps in the canopy to the heavens painted in vibrant orange hues, heralding the approach of dusk. This serene moment was fleeting, and with a sense of urgency spurred by the changing sky, the druidess curtailed her brief respite, ready to resume her labor.
"I must hurry, or I'll be late for the festival." Tabitha murmured, her eyelids heavy with weariness as she concentrated on the amulet in her grasp, its core emitting a subtle glow that bathed her in a soft luminescence. This faint light seeped into her skin, weaving its way through her being as particles of Diurnix's strength, locked inside the amulet, mixed with her own. Space seemed to expand around her as the power within her swelled, growing into an overwhelming force that transcended earthly limitations—a testament to her unwavering fidelity to her lord and virtue, the celestial being to whom she had vowed everlasting allegiance.
However, the ritual abruptly ceased, her eyes widening in dismay. "Why?" she gasped, her voice draped in layers of bewilderment. The amulet, once a faithful conduit of Diurnix's might, now lay inert in her trembling hands, a silent relic resisting her orders. "Why does it fail?" Each effort to summon the celestial essence was met with nothing but the cold refusal of the artifact.
A faint unease began to stir at the edges of her consciousness, a sinister whisper hinting that something was profoundly awry, drawing her attention away from the amulet. This disquiet soon sharpened into a piercing sensation, as if her very essence was being twisted and contorted from within.
A chill crept through her, an uneasy whisper tugging at the edges of her mind. Her hands clutched the amulet tightly, as if squeezing it could rekindle the connection, but its glow had faded, leaving only the silent mystery of its stillness.
The question lingered, a disquiet she couldn’t shake: "Did Adon Diurnix abandon me?"
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