Terolthen's Long Walk

The seed of the first tree, it is said, fell to The Created World shortly after its creation, landing in the very deepest of the valleys of the World, and from it sprouted not a seedling, but a fully grown and ancient tree. His name was Terolthen, and though it was dry in his valley, he was content to stand there and drink the sunlight. After unmeasurable time had passed, for the year was not yet broken into seasons, a forest had grown around Terolthen, and he was content to sleep.   Yet more time still had passed, and Ossh and Syvanthea and the other gods of water came to agree that this should be a world mostly covered in water, and so it began to rain on Terolthen, and around him, and everywhere, in fact. At first, he was pleased, and his forest rejoiced... but in the deepest of the valleys of the World, water began to pool, and quickly. The most ancient tree frowned, and pulled up his roots, and bade his friends follow him up the slopes of the valley, ever further, and ever higher.   They travelled long and hard, but soon the slowest of his entourage began to complain. "Terolthen," they cried, "We tire of walking. Let us put down our roots. We would rather drown than walk another step." And Terolthen was sad, but he understood, for he could feel the tiredness in his trunk as well. And so he shaped these slowest ones to seaweed, that they might be happy in their new home, and bade them farewell to continue on his journey.   Terolthen brought his entourage out of the waters, and into a vast, low-lying plain. And they put down their roots and drank of the sunlight and rain for some time, and Terolthen smiled again. But when Ossh and Syvanthea and the other gods of water were finished filling the ocean, the rain stopped falling on the new home of the trees, and the earth turned to cracked clay and sand, and Terolthen frowned again. "We must move again," he announced.   But some found they could no longer free themselves, trapped by the baked clay and hardened, dried soil, and could not follow Terolthen still higher, and they would have to be left behind. Terolthen looked sadly on them, thirsting with brown, dying leaves. And so he taught them to drink deep from waters below, to hold onto it jealously and guard themselves with thorns, and shaped them into the cactuses, and led those who could still walk on his way.   He led them into another plain but, remembering the fickle rainfall of the last plain, he bade his flock to keep going. But some insisted that they could go no further, and planted themselves as the solitary trees of the windswept plains, where they were very happy and could grow as large as they liked.   He led them to a river valley, and here, he thought, he could he and his flock could finally be happy. But the rivers were fed by the rainfall in many lands, and the variation could alternate the valley between dry and flooded very easily, which he found intolerable. He bade his flock to pull up their roots yet again, and some followed, but many more chose to stay, for they were happy here, and some even planted themselves at the mouth of the river near the sea, where they were happy to see again the first friends they left behind. But Terolthen finally understood where he had to go, and turned towards the mountains.   With the last of the trees that still walked with him, he walked higher and higher still. The soil began to turn to rocks, and Terolthen turned to his followers and told them, "Turn back. Plant yourselves in the foothills, where the rain will not gather as a flood, nor abandon you. I have business at the peak."   And so Terolthen traveled to the highest place on the mountain, accompanied only by his oldest and most faithful companion Bristlecone, to speak with Prossus, the sky god who watches over the winds and the rains, who in his discussions with Ossh and Syvanthea and others had caused him such grief, and asked that it always rain gently on the mountains. Prossus laughed, for it was not in his nature to do anything always. But Prossus told him that he would water his mountain flock gently more often than not, and Terolthen knew he must be satisfied with that, for it is more of a promise than Prossus had ever made before.   Terolthen turned to go down the mountain again, but his companion stumbled, and fell against the rocks. Alarmed, he went to help him upright to bring him down the mountain, but his companion said, "no, leave me. Though the air is thin here, and it is cold and blows with violent force, I have walked so very far accompanied by so many. Let me enjoy my solitude, and I will come down when I choose." And Terolthen was sad, but granted his old friend's request, going down the mountain, into the nameless valley, to put down his roots in the soft and fertile soil for the last time.   His companion never came down the mountain, and the wind shaped him into a gnarled, twisted-shaped thing, but he was happy, for from here he could contemplate the whole of the World, and be accompanied only by the wise ones who, like him, sought reclusion at the top of the world, where loggers never go.