Melivorago

Introduction

Among the many predators that make their home in the Trees of Arborea, I find myself most captivated by those of the vegetable kingdom. Carnivorous plants were not unknown to me before my sojourn amidst the Trees, yet nowhere have I observed them in such abundance, nor in such diversity, as in this strange world - particularly within the lower branches, where the light grows dim and the air thickens with damp. Of these remarkable growths, one of the largest and most singular is the plant I have named Melivorago - the Sweet Abyss.

An Aqueous Lure

This remarkable plant takes root within the bark of the great Trees, most often at the juncture where a branch divides, and there it gathers water from both rainfall and the moisture of the air into an open basin formed by its leaves. During the dry season, such pools may constitute the only readily available source of water for many spans around. To further entice the thirsty, the Melivorago sweetens its waters with a subtle secretion, drawing creatures great and small to drink. I have encountered specimens whose pools measured more than four spans across - a veritable pond wrought from living tissue. It is curiously pleasant to sit near one of these beings, for in addition to the sweet, fresh water it provides, the Melivorago emanates a telepathic aura of calm and peace - calculated, of course, to disarm prey that might otherwise be wary. This has the peculiar effect of deterring other forms of predation nearby, and I have on occasion observed scenes in which natural adversaries drink within a span or two of one another in untroubled harmony.

At the bottom of the pool lies an aperture, encircled by long, sinuous tendrils - whip-like organs that frame the entrance to the Melivorago's digestive chamber. When this chamber lies vacant, the plant employs its tendrils to strike at creatures that venture too near to drink. Each tendril terminates in a minute, venomous barb capable of inducing near-instantaneous paralysis, after which the unfortunate victim is drawn soundlessly beneath the surface and into the cavity below. The swiftness and silence of these assaults are astonishing; the People recount tales of glancing away for but a moment, only to return their gaze and find that the drinker had vanished utterly - leaving behind nothing but a telepathic echo of alarm. When such tragedies occur near their settlements, the People will often rush to cut open the plant's swollen chamber; if fortune favors them, they may yet retrieve the hapless victim before they drown in the creature's digestive fluids.

The plant's digestion proceeds slowly, often consuming many days. During this interval, the pool above may once again be approached in safety, and indeed, countless creatures drink freely from it. I am persuaded that this lengthy respite is vital to the Melivorago's success - for were it perilous at all times, even the dullest beasts would learn to avoid its treacherous allure.

A Wandering Pond

One aspect of the Melivorago that quite startled me to discover is that it is not wholly sessile, as one generally expects of plants. From time to time - prompted by stimuli I have yet to identify - the creature will invert itself, shedding the liquid of its pool and enclosing its digestive chamber within its thick, durable leaves. This exposes the tendrils, which it then employs to drag itself to a new location, sometimes even swinging through the branches with surprising agility. During this migration, it sheds its roots entirely. Examination of what remains suggests they are already enervated, the plant having reabsorbed all vital elements in preparation for its journey.

Once the Melivorago arrives at its new station, it swiftly resumes its familiar form: fresh roots descend to anchor it to the bark, while the leaves unfurl once more into their basin-like arrangement. The basin fills quickly, as the plant draws moisture from the very air, and within a day or two, it appears as though it had always grown there. The People, however, know better. A recently migrated Melivorago is ravenous, and they give it wide berth until its chamber bulges once more with the slow, dreadful fullness of digestion.