It breathed as the valley breathed.
High up between the twin peaks of Spring and Autumn.
It breathed in the scent of new life living, and the promise of decay.
It breathed through root and branch and bud.
It breathed as the valley breathed animus into its limbs.
Filling it with purpose and curiosity.
It remained still at first.
It was a very odd feeling, Life.
Like you were meant to be going somewhere.
But the where, what, and why were somehow, somewhat hazy.
Either way, it wouldn't do to do nothing.
It waved it newly mobile limbs, finding no purchase.
It reached upward finding where it was attached to the fallen giant and pushed.
It wiggled and it squiggled and it scrabbled against the air, before falling limp, with a huff, defeated.
It looked around at what it could see from its position.
The forest floor was a collage of greens and oranges and yellows.
Chiggers and aphids skittered between fallen leaves.
It wondered how long it might be stuck up here.
It wondered if the aphids had names.
Then the wind blew.
And the trees moved.
A kaleidoscope of colors crashed down upon the fertile, blooming ground below.
Reds and violets and violent greens, the brightest of blues and yellows, colors without names filled the world below the canopy.
It felt the sunlight, warm on its bark.
Breathed in the heavy perfume of summer.
It listened to the whisper and bubble of a nearby brook.
The scratching and chirps of the insects below.
Soft footsteps, hide against fresh earth.
A ringing sound that... fit.
As if it were the heartsong of the Valley itself.
"Having trouble, Little One?"
Story is a Queer, Autistic, displaced Mountain Fae Artist and Writer living in the subtropics with her beloved Trickster, their Little Monster, and a cat that knows his ancestors were worshiped as Gods, and behaves accordingly. They can be found on all the things @StoryTheAnimist.