Member-only story
Whisper of the Leaves
A Coming of Age Monster Story
The trees confide in me for they see a resemblance. The transformation of buds to tender leaves, their bright green heyday, the colorful splendor of old age and finally the breath that carries them away as they relive the trials and joys of their life on their way down, down, down. The trees watch as I too transform becoming different each time, as each comes to my bedchamber seeking the release that only my kind can provide.
The trees have no way of understanding that our transformations are not part of a natural life cycle. We are not like the leaves. Our shifted self is an echo of times past, skill born of necessity, now required for survival, though never intended to be used thus.
My grandmother spoke of times when we were respected. We helped babes enter the world, soothed the brows of those leaving it. We healed wounds and those we tended were thankful, bringing us beads of turquoise, indigo thread, sunflower seeds, corn and wool.
The turn came about as a means of protection. We were once the most powerful tribe on the continent. But seasons come and go and the world changes. War coupled with disdainful new arrivals to our land did what harsh winters and spreading sickness could not, winnowing down our numbers until we were at the mercy of all those around us. That was when…
