The breathing that I learned was called a meditation technique in the book, and it was incredibly helpful. Sometimes, if I closed my eyes and focused intently on the breathing and meditation technique, I would find myself floating in a brightly lit forest. Trees surrounded a beautiful meadow with butterflies fluttering around vibrant and colorful flowers. In the center of the meadow stood a tree of impossible size. Some trees, like the tree in the center, even had flowers on their branches, or their leaves were completely replaced by beautiful white, red, and pink flower petals of their own. Of all the books I've read and paintings I've seen of trees, I've never seen anything like these.
Granted my knowledge was limited to the books I used to study, as I wasn't allowed to read anything intended for leisure.
Oddly I could feel the wind blowing and smell the flowers and grass when I sat in that space. It would feel so… perfectly tranquil. I can't think of any of my other dreams ever having smells or being able to feel any touch in them. If I had a nightmare, the best way to quickly forget it and fall back asleep was to focus enough to reach that space. I couldn't always do it, and sometimes after a lashing the pain made it incredibly difficult. When I succeeded though, even the pain felt lighter. I feel like it's been easier and easier to do it lately.
As I felt sleep finally begin to seep through my consciousness, I was hopeful that tomorrow would bring about changes for the better. For myself, for Lizabeth, and for my other servants.
I felt the gentle breeze across my face, carrying the familiar smells of the flowers and grass that often brought me peace. A small smile crept onto my face as I slowly opened my eyes to the beautiful meadow and forest before me.
Basking in the feeling of the butterflies gently brushing against my arms, I walked to the centerpiece of this gorgeous environment, a massive tree with a trunk as thick across as three of me laid head to foot, maybe more. A six-to-seven-meter diameter tree trunk. I can't imagine something this large existing in my world, it's just that imposing.
The trees here usually change with the seasons unlike the flowers, and the Mother Tree, as I've so affectionately taken to calling her, is no different. It's very early spring, with the chill just breaking and sprouts only now beginning to show on the branches, giving the feeling of a new start. There was anticipation in the branches as well, waiting for the flowering of the buds to bring about the next phase of the forest.
I couldn't always feel an emotion or presence from the forest, but sometimes it seemed to almost be in sync with how I was feeling. As if the very presence of nature that enveloped me could feel how I felt and react accordingly. In times where I was seeking refuge and trying to escape from the pain it was as if the branches of the Mother Tree would lean a little bit lower, swaying less with the wind, seeming to offer some shade from the searing heat of my external pains. During one long winter I'd often find the branches parted to allow more sunlight through, it's warmth gently caressing and comforting my skin on the cold nights without enough firewood to last.
This time there seemed to be an anticipatory joy, lingering in the increased sway of the branches and the almost early budding of their leaves and flowers. I felt calm and comforted, as if I could tackle whatever was coming. A beauty meant for me alone was encouraging me to have faith, to find solace and respite beneath its branches.
As I laid down between the Mother Tree's roots, its warmth alive as if it was pumping its own lifeblood, I felt even calmer. Perhaps my concerns weren't worth worrying about. Perhaps I could be happy here? Perhaps returning to the world of wakefulness wouldn't be necessary?
As that thought brushed across my mind, I felt a hesitation from the tree. A more vigorous shaking of the branches as if to deny the very idea. I could feel a pause from within the warmth in the roots, a brief moment, as if a breath were being held back. I stopped my thoughts and considered, for the first time, that maybe this tree was more than just something I conjured in my imagination to make myself feel better.
With trepidation I decided to voice my concerns. "Are you alive?"
The branches seemed to stop moving for a brief moment, as if to consider the best way to respond. It was so brief that if I hadn't been waiting for something to happen, I might not have noticed it. I felt emboldened to continue my questioning. Gathering my courage, I pressed on.
"If you're more than… my imagination. More than just my hopeful wishes, please, sway your branches a bit more."
And suddenly the tree branches seemed to shake, as if the tree itself were chuckling at my question. After that moment the branches swayed more than the wind should have caused. A massive smile broke across my face, but I still couldn't believe it. Have I been hoping for interaction so much that I was willing to believe a fictional tree could understand me, or was this space more than that?
"Can you speak to me normally?"
The branches completely stopped for just a few seconds. I'm assuming the lack of movement was a negative response.
"Are you a part of me?"
Another pause.
"Are you magic?"
The branches didn't stop or start moving for a moment, and then a pause. Was that hesitation?
"If you're not magic, then where did you come from?"
There was no change to the swaying of the branches.
Gods Curses, I forgot to ask a yes or no question. For everything I've learned while reading I can be an idiot sometimes.
"Sorry. Let me think for a minute how to phrase the question better." The branches seemed to reach a little towards me, as if in comfort.
"Okay, you're not magic, and you're not a part of me… So, are you a spirit?"
The branches swayed normally for a minute, then paused, and then swayed slightly more intensely.
"So that's a maybe?"
An immediate pause in response.
"Wait. You're not "maybe a spirit", but you aren't exactly not a spirit either? Gods this is so confusing. That's probably not the right way to word the question…" Taking just a minute to compose myself, I try to arrange my thoughts into a less incoherent mess.
"So, you are a spirit, but not the same as the spirits that I know?"
Immediately the branches began swaying, as if happy that I could reach this conclusion.
"All this time you've been here. Comforting me, shading me, and… Wait… Did your actions affect my real body?"
The branches swayed.
"So, you kept me alive too. That's too much. I can't… I can't…" I immediately broke down in choking and shaking sobs. My eyes were burning and it felt as if someone was twisting a knife so deeply in my chest that I had trouble breathing. My face was hot with shame at having never realized what was happening to me. How could I live during that harsh winter? How had my wounds on my back healed so quickly that even Lizabeth noticed? How come I've never come down with any sickness despite how I lived every day? Everything could be laid at the feet of this beautiful tree. This 'Mother Tree' truly lived up to its given namesake. Someone like me truly didn't deserve this love, this care, this gentleness.
It felt like hours passed as I kept crying. My eyes should have long been dry and my throat should be raw from my choked sobs, but I think this 'landscape' protected me yet again. Was I this blessed and how could I not realize it?
A shake from the branches, and then a long, unnatural, pause. Even more unnatural than when it was responding to my questions.
"Are you saying you kept me from recognizing the changes?"
A shake of the branches.
"But…. How? Why? No, those aren't the right questions. Did you do it to protect me?"
Another shake of the branches.
"I can't think of anything that you'd need to protect me from."
Realizing that I wouldn't be able to get a good answer to my final query, I decided to just rest for the remainder of the time I had left to me. Laying my back against the massive trunk of the Mother Tree, I scooted closer to the root so that I could feel the subtle movement of it's warmth beneath the soft bark.