The Heart of the Forest: A Druidic Parable

By: Alayna Posted on: May 18, 2004

There once was a spot in the Aalen Forest located near a cliff that overlooked the river, which seemed to be especially blessed. The spot had ample shade from a towering redwood, with a steady wind that blew in softly and caressed every part of the grove. The leaves upon the trees and the grass -- which grew like a thick, soft carpet upon the forest floor -- were a brilliant emerald green. Flowers bloomed throughout the year, lending their sweet scent to the place. Animals would come here to rest, frolicking with each other and beaming with pride over how the Aalen had such beauty, and sending the forest their love.

There was an icewyrm who adored the grove, loving it so much that he would come to it each day from his cave near the Vashnar Mountains and sit beneath the redwood tree, watching the blades of grass dance in the wind and listen to the leaves sing. Here, he could feel the bonds of Earth and Nature strongly, echoing throughout his being.

He spent more and more time in the grove until finally, he made it his home, building himself a nest upon the grass. It was a joyous period -- he had a home in a beautiful place full of light and life and he was never lonely, for he frequently had visitors to the grove. He welcomed the other animals with joy -- until one day, he noticed how the squirrel ran across the branch of HIS redwood tree with abandon, how the turtle leaned in close to HIS flowers to smell them, and how the wolf rolled around happily in HIS grass ... and he was not happy. The next few times he had visitors in his grove, he watched them intently and grew more and more upset by the way they took liberty in touching, reveling, and loving HIS grove, HIS home.

Things came to a head when his friend, the wolf, caressed an iris in his grove -- the only iris that was there, and the prized possession of the icewyrm. With a guttural curse, the icewyrm flung himself at the wolf, pushing him away from the flower.

"Do not dare touch it!" he bellowed, his eyes turning white with icy rage, checking the iris quickly to reassure himself that the wolf had not done any damage. "It is mine."

Shocked by the ferocity in the icewyrm's manner, the wolf sat back on his haunches, staring at him speechlessly for a moment before regaining his voice. "I beg your pardon?" the wolf asked slowly. "My friend, all of Nature is for everyone to --"

"Please leave." The icewyrm turned his back on the wolf and retreated to his nest, closing his eyes. After staring at him for a moment, the wolf walked away in silence.

Not long afterwards, visits to the grove dropped, then ceased altogether, for the animals no longer felt welcome. The icewyrm would watch and snap at them when they so much as moved, making them feel like intruders. Over time, the icewyrm did not leave the grove, fearful that someone would come in when he was not there and damage some part of his home. His strong will of wanting to keep others out -- to have the place all to himself -- was imposed upon the forest spot, and the grove became locked away within its own self, cut off from all the other parts of the forest. The spirit of Earth and Nature, which once pulsated so strongly within the grove, began to ebb and fade, replaced by the louder, more demanding desire of the icewyrm himself.

One day, when the moon was hidden behind dark, angry clouds and a violent wind picked up, a storm the likes of which had never come upon the Aalen began screaming through the forest, rain pelting down in hard sheets. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and it was sometime during the middle of the night that lightning crashed down against various parts of the forest, igniting the night with explosions of white that then turned to crimson.

The icewyrm let out a breath, ignoring the insistent whisper in his mind that wanted him to concentrate on what the crimson lights meant, and laid himself down to try to sleep through the fierce storm. It was then that a squirrel and his old friend the wolf burst through the foliage, startling the icewyrm to a standing position. "What -- what are you doing here?" he asked, his gaze darting quickly from one to the other.

"We need your help, old friend," the wolf panted, eyes alight with intensity. "The forest is burning."

"Come on, let's go!" Wild with panic, the squirrel began tugging at the icwyrm's front leg, hopping from one foot to the other in agitation. "Please! The forest needs us."

The icewyrm stared at the little animal for a moment before silently settling back down again upon his nest of grass.

"What are you doing!" screamed the squirrel, his tail bristling with fear and anger. "You cannot stay here and do nothing! The forest is burning and you have the power to help -- how can you not?"

The icewyrm shrugged, lips curling in distaste at the squirrel's shrillness. "This is my home," he replied. "I do not feel the need to concern myself with others' homes. The fire does not rage here -- it is safe, and so am I. If I leave, how do I know that you will not have taken possession of this spot in place of me?"

The little animal shook with rage, but before he could respond the wolf spoke up. "Leave him be," he said, his shrewd gaze upon the muttering icewyrm. "He will not help us." The wolf laid a paw upon the squirrel's shoulder. "Come. We must go, for the forest cannot wait. Fires must be put out."

With one last pleading look at the icewyrm -- whereupon he turned his head away to pretend he did not see -- the pair left the grove, running to join the animals that were helping each other save the parts of the forest already being ravaged by fire.

In his grove, the icewyrm slept, shivering in the cold rain. Frequently during that night he was awakened by the sound of anguished cries coming from the surrounding area, but he burrowed into himself further and forced his ears to close against the sounds.

Some time during the night, the storm began to rage anew, and a bolt of lightning struck his grove. Fire exploded into being, flames consuming each blade of grass it touched and the bark of the towering redwood tree. In a panic, the icewyrm backed himself up against the dense foliage at the rear of the grove, before realizing he had frost breath.

As he inhaled, a strong wind shrieked through, and the icewyrm suddenly found himself trapped in the heart of the blaze. He screamed in pain as the flames surrounded him and dropped to his knees, his body wracked with agony as the fire burned against his sensitive flesh. The thought crossed his mind that he would die this night, for the animals knew he did not want their presence and would not enter his grove. They would not know what had just happened. Help would not come.

As he choked upon billowing clouds of smoke and felt himself burn with the intensity of a thousand suns, he managed to force the pain away -- long enough to take in a deep breath and exhale a sheet of ice that dashed most of the fire out. Spent, the icewyrm crashed to the forest floor, one last breath shuddering through his painful, burned body before he lay still.

An hour later, rain began to fall again in earnest, putting out the last embers of the dying fire, washing away the burned cinders and enveloping the grove -- and the entire forest -- in a soothing, gentle shower of warmth that started to heal the forest's wounds.

But the damage had been done. Locked off from the rest of the forest for so long, unable to feel the pulse of the Earth and Nature within itself strongly enough to heal, the heart of the forest began to wither and die.

* * * *

Two months later...

An eagle, looking for a spot to rest his tired wings for the late afternoon, alighted upon the dying redwood tree within the once-blessed grove. As he slowly preened his feathers, his eyes scanned the area around him, taking in every detail. Gliding down gently to the forest floor, he walked about, looking carefully at the once-joyous flowers which now clung together in dismal clusters, the grass that was tinged with brown, the bark of the tree that showed some charring -- his wise eyes began to read the grove as though it was a book, where pages were splayed open, displaying not printed words but with signs, with the soft whispers in the rustling of the grass and the drooping petals of the flowers.

This place was once loved, he thought. Loved ... but in the end, coveted so much that it became a place of sheer possession, where what was once loved for itself became something twisted that was still, even now, choking the grove, cutting it off from the process of healing.

He glanced up at a sky streaked with gold and copper from the slowly setting sun, and felt the gentle brush of wind against his feathers. This could be a good place to raise a family, he believed, for the echoes of the Earth and Nature still reverberate here, although faintly.

He very gently, very tenderly caressed the petal of a shriveled iris, and even then the petal broke off the stem from his contact. As it dropped silently to the ground, his heart swelled with such profound sadness that tears formed in his eyes, trickling down his face and falling from his beak onto the forest floor.

There will be goodness here again, he promised silently. The pulse of Earth and Nature will be felt strongly once more -- the connection with the rest of the forest will be restored. There will be hope here, and joy, and laughter ... but most of all, there will be love.

With a beating of his wings, the eagle took to the air, flying away to tell his mate of the perfect place to raise the young they would have together. And there in the grove, upon the very spot where his tears had consecrated the ground, an emerald-green sapling began to grow.