Page 6 of Trees Take the Long View

There was so much to say to him, and yet at the same time, nothing at all. Either it would work out or it wouldn't. Even if I wanted to mate with him, and he chose to say no, I could survive it. I could survive anything, with the perspective of the forest inside me, the waiting and peace. Trees seem to take the long-term view. It's hard to get too fussed about anything when you're with them.

Maybe I was a bit of a mess by human standards—even other wolf standards—but by the forest's perspective I was just fine. Just one more small being living a life in among the trees, no more worthy of respect or censure than anything else. As worthy as the chipmunks, but no more or less. It felt like enough, when I was here.

We walked on, passed the remnants of a road, now just a scarred part of the earth, a dirt track that hadn't completely grown back. We walked along it, toward the farm, passed a low stone wall that had partially collapsed. It looked much more authentic than the one I was building for work: natural stones of all shapes piled into a thick, low wall, probably a hundred years old or more. It now appeared unconnected to anything, as if it had been built by someone eccentric who got a charge out of building partial walls in the midst of a forest. But once it had had a use, had been important, part of a whole landscape of building and living, animals and humans and growing things. It was all that had survived of that time, which was both beautiful, poignant, and oddly like a warning. Everything I built would someday be like that: either gone, or out of place and forgotten. Stones have some real perspective on life. Perhaps because they don't have it.

When I'm in the woods, I anthropomorphize everything. But then, I feel connected to everything. That's how I am, when I'm a wolf. It's much nicer, because as a human, I often don't feel connected to anyone or anything at all. Adrift, lost, angry. But here, I could breathe, and feel real. Not important, not as if anything I did actually mattered one way or another, but real.

We were nearly to the fruit trees. I found myself slowing down, hesitating. This place felt sacred to me. I hoped he appreciated what I was sharing here. There was no one else in the world I would have taken into this place. I hoped it wasn't a mistake.

A branch crackled under his foot, and the ambient noise of the forest went quiet near us. Insects, birds, and small mammals waited to see if they could resume their lives in peace. We had stopped by some ferns. A fox had been by here since I'd last visited. Recently, too. Poor little thing was probably hungry. All the same, I wished he'd keep his rank smells to himself. No need to mark territory around a communal area. Besides, I was only going to mark over it later. He needed to respect who was boss here.

I looked up at Dean, met his eyes. His met mine in return, expression very grave. He understood, at least on some level, that this mattered, and wasn't something to take lightly. Even I didn't know why, exactly—they weren't really wild and sacred fruit trees, whatever it felt like, just abandoned and feral plants that had naturalized themselves and managed to survive. But it felt sacred, all the same.

Bees swarmed around the trees, their sound a low buzz coming from all directions. I hoped Dean wasn't afraid of bees, or allergic. I should have thought to ask.

I looked up at him as he craned his neck skyward, taking in the wild and generous limbs. Since I'd been here, the peak of ripeness had just slightly passed, and the sweetest apples that hadn't fallen or been eaten by squirrels, birds, deer, etc., were being hollowed out and consumed by the crowd of bees. They seemed like happy bees, content with their bounty. There were still a great many apples on the tree, but some had fallen. Deer prints and their faint scent showed they'd been through here, but not today. There were also the markings and scents of a half dozen small mammals, who'd eaten their fill. Yet the apples on the ground were not all gone. I crunched on one, eating from the side that wasn't damaged by gnaw marks.

He looked down at me. "Don't do that. I'll get you a fresh one."

Guess he wasn't afraid of bees or allergic.

I could have told him I was fine as is. But, well, if he was going to wait on me hand and foot...I guessed I couldn't stop him.

The lowest and most accessible apples had all been browsed off. He moved close and reached into the thicket of limbs, straining a little to get closer. Plenty of apples within reach had been protected by branches, although the nicest apples still hung at the tops of the trees.

"Uh. Here." He emerged with a few apples, dropped one, picked it up, rubbed it on his shirt, looked it over, then the others, and finally selected one. He polished it quickly on his trousers, looking self-conscious, then offered it to me in an open-palm gesture.

I ate it politely, my crunches loud in the quiet forest. He'd made enough of a rustling in the trees to alert any ignorant birds or other creatures of our presence. There was a quietness now, a waiting. Perhaps they were watching us. Perhaps they were witnessing this apple-eating moment. It felt important to me. I met his eyes and licked my lips. He smiled a little awkwardly, wiped his hand on his trousers. I finally noticed that they'd gotten some rips on them, probably from undergrowth as we passed through. Trying to keep up with me had damaged his trousers. I would apologize for that later, offer to pay. I felt very much as if I might lick his hand if I didn't restrain myself, so I stood back while he polished and ate one of the other apples, maintaining eye contact with me. This was important to him, too, I could tell. Probably not for the same reason.

My tail wagged softly, feathering the air. We ate two more apples, no words between us, and a lot of eye contact. What was there to talk about, really? Probably a lot, but it didn't feel like it right now. I was a very content wolf. Something important had happened, and it was very good.

He walked around a bit more, and I showed him where the other fruit trees were. The plums were hard little nubs, and the cherries were long gone, eaten by a riot of birds in the spring.

Someday, if I ever settled down and stayed somewhere long enough to put down roots, I wanted fruit trees of my own. There were obviously hearty varieties that could survive a lot, probably even my lack of knowledge about how to grow them. Besides, I could always learn.

Staying in one place long enough to grow anything might be an issue for me, but it was a nice dream. Trees would be something to share with my mate, another way of providing...

I tried to cut that thought off at the pass, but it wouldn't go. I was definitely thinking about my mate, and our future together, and right now that future seemed pretty clear. It was me and Dean, riding off into the sunset. We'd be so relaxed and happy, just like we were now.

He sighed, and let his hand drop to my ruff. "We should head back."

I made a sound of disagreement and complaint. He removed his hand. That hadn't been what I meant. I gazed up at him in dismay. He looked back.

"I can't tell what you're thinking."

I wasn't that hard to read, was I? I licked his wrist, quite daringly, and opened my eyes wider.

He laughed in surprise, drawing back, and rubbed his wrist on his trousers to get off the damp lick. I wasn't that gross, he didn't have to act like that. "All right, I'll stay a little longer if you want."

He found a place with mostly clear ground and a low, fallen log that was only half-rotted so far. He sat on it. I moved right up to his side and rested my chin on his thigh, gazing up at him with my softest expression. I really was shameless, and I didn't care. He was going to have a pretty strong hint about how I was feeling toward him by the time he left.

#

Shifting back was strange. So naked and exposed without protective fur. So much heavy mental weight to carry, now that I had all the words of a man, all the memories of human life rushing to the forefront as the memories of a wolf receded two steps.

I sighed, feeling old and defeated, and reached for my trousers. He watched me closely, but not my body: my eyes and face. That thought was depressing, as well. At the least, he could admire me a little. But no, he was worried about the basket case again.

We'd had such a good time today in the forest, too. I hated that it was probably all downhill from here.