Chapter Text
The acorns were relaxing in a hollow in their maker’s trunk. The sky was overcast. It would rain; the possibility of lightning scared them a bit, but they would probably be safe. Their maker was not the tallest or attractive for the bolts to run up and down. There was a pond that turtle’s favored nearby for them to observe. It was very exciting. They were pretty box turtles, though they were snappy with the grass and rocks.
The man, with his long staff and robes done in the modern style, came across their little copse. He entered in the gap between the Birch and the Ash, and walked across, sidestepping the pond, eyes locked right on the acorns.
As the Wizard, for it was now clear from the strange wind around him that he was a Wizard, approached, they excitedly whispered amongst each other, rustling their scales, until they saw his face.
It was clear, smooth, completely immature and unlike a tree. Entirely undeveloped and ugly with an angry green color to his eyes. He picks them up. “You’ll fit nicely in a magic staff once you’ve sprouted” he says with a smile like a squirrel, all teeth.
He skipped from the clearing, the acorns in a vice like grip. They squirmed, they ached, they boiled, and they screamed, but he only gripped tighter. They could not be used by the jumped up excuse of half a man. They would not be put in whatever it was he yearned for. Not them. They would curse him.
They walked for miles, and with each step he took, full of pep and vigor, they were further convinced that the way his heels dug into the ground when he walked meant he hated the ground. He stopped to spit on the half trampled grass on the ground. When he walked into a place of dead trees, they were tossed in a stone box that ate the heat from their skins. They slowly, quietly, fell asleep.
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When they awoke, they had six new acorns amongst them. They whispered to each other. They became the same, though they came from different places, North, and East, of this new place. They accepted each other. It was at this point the Wizard returned, holding small pots of soil, salts that killed critters, and cold boxes, stakes, and wire. He was terrifying.
They quieted, no longer rolling. They were picked up, one by one, quivering in fear. They were dropped into the soil, and one by one, carried away to an even colder box that woke them right up. One by one, they came out of their shells, winding roots reaching into their small pots. Now they could spit and shrivel, but they were no closer to escape. The door to this place was locked, and even if they had as much water as they wished, they would need months to grow out and force it open.
The wizard would come by now and again, and fill their pots with stakes. They had no choice but this, so they complied, but twisted their roots under the soil, coiling, so once the stakes were removed they could explode outward and hopefully force the door open.