Throne of Moss


Once upon a time, humans understood the words spoken by the forest. They could easily slip from their native tongues into, say, the language of the grasses, which, outside of a few dialectic differences, is mainly the same. Humans could speak with the trees and the orchids, even the bees, who, naturally, spoke several languages, the bees' main employ being the hand-delivery of messages to the forest vegetation.

It came to pass, as these things do, that the humans believed they no longer needed the forest: They began to shape it to their desires.

Whole languages disappeared as the forest constricted. Lilies hung their heads. The bees stopped Sunday deliveries. Maples toed underground pipes.

Eventually the humans stopped speaking entirely to the forest, all except Willheim, the last remaining woodsman.

And so it was the bees who brought the news of the birth of Edmunda to the woods. Edmunda: daughter of Tatjana, granddaughter of Alois. The blood of royalty coursed through the child's veins: She was destined to sit upon a throne of gold.

But the blood of the woodfolk ran through Edmunda as well, a simple misstep in Tatjana's judgement, according to the servants, who gossiped like bees while they polished the silver and plucked the goose for dinner. Suddenly intoxicated by the scent of wild roses, scent being a language all its own, Tatjana had taken up with Willheim.

Tatjana's mother was furious: Royalty does not mix with men of the forest. Willheim was dragged into the executioner's chambers, Tatjana sobbing on the other side of the oaken door, while the maple planted outside, in a token nod to the forest, looked on in silent sorrow.

The months passed. Spring turned to summer and then fall.

Tatjana gave birth.

The tree whispered a message to the bees, who flew low, carrying the word to each blade of grass: A new woodchild had been born.

The child's throne would not be gold, they decided.

Edmunda would sit upon a throne of moss.


This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was blood. 


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Writing in the Margins, Bursting at the Seams: Throne of Moss

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Throne of Moss


Once upon a time, humans understood the words spoken by the forest. They could easily slip from their native tongues into, say, the language of the grasses, which, outside of a few dialectic differences, is mainly the same. Humans could speak with the trees and the orchids, even the bees, who, naturally, spoke several languages, the bees' main employ being the hand-delivery of messages to the forest vegetation.

It came to pass, as these things do, that the humans believed they no longer needed the forest: They began to shape it to their desires.

Whole languages disappeared as the forest constricted. Lilies hung their heads. The bees stopped Sunday deliveries. Maples toed underground pipes.

Eventually the humans stopped speaking entirely to the forest, all except Willheim, the last remaining woodsman.

And so it was the bees who brought the news of the birth of Edmunda to the woods. Edmunda: daughter of Tatjana, granddaughter of Alois. The blood of royalty coursed through the child's veins: She was destined to sit upon a throne of gold.

But the blood of the woodfolk ran through Edmunda as well, a simple misstep in Tatjana's judgement, according to the servants, who gossiped like bees while they polished the silver and plucked the goose for dinner. Suddenly intoxicated by the scent of wild roses, scent being a language all its own, Tatjana had taken up with Willheim.

Tatjana's mother was furious: Royalty does not mix with men of the forest. Willheim was dragged into the executioner's chambers, Tatjana sobbing on the other side of the oaken door, while the maple planted outside, in a token nod to the forest, looked on in silent sorrow.

The months passed. Spring turned to summer and then fall.

Tatjana gave birth.

The tree whispered a message to the bees, who flew low, carrying the word to each blade of grass: A new woodchild had been born.

The child's throne would not be gold, they decided.

Edmunda would sit upon a throne of moss.


This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was blood. 


Labels: ,

16 Comments:

At May 8, 2013 at 6:09 PM , Blogger Leslie Collins said...

Okay. Now this is a children's book for sure. I'm going to start looking for illustrations!

 
At May 8, 2013 at 6:11 PM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Hardest prompt ever! You should have seen my earlier versions. Blah blah blah blah blah. I have no idea where this came from.

 
At May 9, 2013 at 2:22 AM , OpenID anansisweb said...

Lovely tale and nicely charted out.
Love the idea, especially the "throne of moss" concept.
Cheers!

 
At May 9, 2013 at 4:09 AM , Blogger Lyssa Medana said...

This rang so true with the Grimm Fairytales, I really liked it LM x

 
At May 9, 2013 at 4:10 AM , OpenID joe2poetry said...

A legend in the making.

 
At May 9, 2013 at 6:10 AM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Thanks so much!

 
At May 9, 2013 at 6:11 AM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Thanks for reading!

 
At May 9, 2013 at 6:15 AM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Thank you, Joe!

 
At May 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM , Blogger Draug said...

What a lovely fairy tale!

 
At May 9, 2013 at 8:39 AM , Blogger Trifecta said...

This is some great world and myth building in only 333 words. It's clear there's strong fairy tale blood running through this piece.

Thanks for linking up!

 
At May 9, 2013 at 9:44 AM , Anonymous injaynesworld said...

Isn't it wonderful when you have no idea where a story comes from, but it speaks to you so strongly demanding to be heard. This is lovely, Kelly.

 
At May 9, 2013 at 1:30 PM , Anonymous steph said...

It came to pass that humans believed they no longer needed the forest - oh boy - how true. This is nice, Kelly. A throne of moss is infinitely better than a throne of gold, imho.

 
At May 9, 2013 at 3:36 PM , Blogger Suzanne said...

This is so good Kelly! Love the mystical, fairytale style. Wonderful storytelling!

 
At May 10, 2013 at 3:45 AM , Blogger kymm said...

<3 throne of moss <3
<3 the whole third paragraph <3
This is great, Kelly!

 
At May 10, 2013 at 4:35 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love the imagery!..."Lilies hung their heads. Maples toes underground pipes."

 
At May 12, 2013 at 6:37 AM , Anonymous my heart's love songs said...

i, too, love the imagery! and i love the happy ending instead of our reality of humans never-ending destruction of nature and the world. fabulous tale!

 

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