Cultivating Plants

Going down the tree was way more straightforward than going upward. Quite literally at that. It was a straight line.

The druid simply let himself fall from one of the branches – so his fall would be straight and he wouldn't impact against the World Tree's trunk – and descended at high speeds assisted by gravity. His body was so confident and strong that it remained erect for most of the fall even as he reached terminal velocity. The only things that moved around were his clothing and hair, but this wasn't his first time doing a free fall, so his cape didn't get in the way.

The important thing was the landfall.

At these high speeds, if he were to impact with the ground without decelerating, he would pulverize most things as his active toughness made him way more durable than most metals. Unwilling to kill someone by accident or even so much as making a pothole on the village grounds, Xochipilli started controlling his speed.

Whilst there were mystical ways to do so, physics couldn't nor shouldn't be forgotten. By putting himself parallel with the ground, he increased significantly the drag on his body therefore decreasing his terminal velocity. It was a considerable decrease, yet still nowhere enough to drive him near a halt. That was when his mystical ways took their place.

There were many ways to slow down one's acceleration, momentum, and whatnot with the vital arts, but the simplest one – at least in this exact scenario – was to transform his vitality into cycling air through the flowing stance. This cushion of air not only severely decreased the effects of gravity on him but also increased his surface, yet again affecting his drag.

Most people heard him descending before they even saw him as the wind technique of the flowing stance wasn't precisely silent. Not that a human-sized projectile falling for a handful of kilometers was either.

His body came to a sudden halt as he landed perfectly on his feet. If he hadn't been wielding toughness his body would have probably transformed into a pile of gore, but with his control of Nurture, only the surrounding blades of grass had been disturbed.

"Ah, Xochipilli, we have been waiting for you!" A man already entering his twilight years spoke to him, but he was too spry for people to think that let alone say it to his face.

"How's that, Uncle?" That man, of course, was Xochipilli's very uncle.

After many years living under the World Tree, the man had forgone his very limited Tecolatan dialect and had switched to Ydazi. It had been mostly out of necessity as many Tecolatans had joined the village but as they came from parts of the jungle so distanced from each other their tongues were not recognizable, and Ydazi worked as the perfect bridge.

It was a natural and organic transition so seamless that it had attracted some linguists from the Caliphate to explore how the language had evolved so much in a matter of decades. They called it Tecolatan Ydazi, or Teco-dazi, even if it was mostly unchanged Ydazi save for a handful of loan words and phonetic transcriptions that resonated more with the myriad of Tecolatan tongues present under the tree.

"Apparently someone has been looking for you. Gunseidhr here can guide you."

Gunseidhr was one of the many daughters of Mother Nature, and as it was basically tradition, her name was an uncommon… mess. The only difference between her and the first named dryads was that Aloe had decided to start naming them in other languages, Loyatan in this case after her daughters became too many to be limited to a single tongue.

As if commanded, the dryad shimmied forward gracefully. Her name had been born from some folklore of the northern lands and a handful of war tales, as she boasted two arms long and pointy-like spears that nearly reached the ground, alongside a bundle of large petals on her head that created a pointy hat that Loyatans associated with the folkloric practitioner of the 'witch'.

"Prince of Flowers," the thin dryad bowed.

As dryads considered her mother a mixture of royalty and divinity, that had prompted that title for him. He understood why it existed, but it made him a bit uncomfortable as it sounded rather childish, like how Aloe always hotheadedly referred to him. It didn't help that his first original evolutions once he started studying Evolution on his own were flowers.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"What is wrong, Gunseidhr?" Xochipilli calmly spoke as he fixed his hair a bit.

"Nothing is wrong, my Prince," she in specific had a tendency to make conversations 'royal-like'. Dryads were a peculiar bunch with their own inclinations, though that was what made them this interesting and appealing.

"It was an expression," he clarified as it became painfully clear that she had misunderstood him.

"Oh, I see," the dryad bowed again, her arms tailing behind her on the air like swords sheathed on a belt. "The 'issue' at 'hand' is a woman that is looking for your presence." She put emphasis on the expressions as if he wouldn't be able to understand them if she didn't do so.

"Would you be so polite to guide me to her then, Gunseidhr?"

"Glady, my Prince."

The village beneath the World Tree, whilst it didn't have a name of its own, was certainly a lively place. Thanks to the bioluminescent lichen growing on the colossal tree's bark and the Flourishing Springs, there was no lack of lighting or water even if the village was situated under the biggest canopy of Khaffat and there were no rivers nearby. People lived everywhere and anywhere. Some built hanging homes on the arching roots of the World Tree, whilst others used the existing hollows and clenches as their homes. As most citizens had no traditional home culture or architectural knowledge as was the case with the Tecolatans and dryads, that meant that anyone was free to do their own thing. And because dryads had a limited innate capability to modify the growth of any plant to weave their form on their own image, that allowed the construction of wooden homes that were livng trees instead of processed planks.

Xochipilli didn't have a residence of its own, but he had a small resting place on the canopy of the tree mostly made out of leaves that at least allowed him to sleep somewhat close to Aloe and far from the sounds of the village. Curiously enough, his 'home' was louder than the village itself as the winds were considerably stronger at the height of the canopy, but it was the perfect white noise to sleep. At least for him.

Gunseidhr guided him to a communal building at the root of the World Tree that was normally used for village gatherings or the occasional housing of intrepid tourists. Resting on a fiber armchair before a tea table that sprung from the very wood of the World Tree, a woman of somewhat advanced age sat peacefully taking a cup of tea. Though that peace quickly vanished the moment the woman saw him and rushed at him without letting the years weigh her down.

"Oh, goddess! Those scarlet eyes… you truly are him!" The woman's eyes shone, but not in the sense of glamour.

"Do I know you…?" Xochipilli asked in confusion. Behind his back he made a gesture to stand down as he sensed Gunseidhr taking a defensive position. He didn't blame the dryad for reacting that way as the woman was rather… pushy, but he didn't require her help. For better or worse, he no longer required help for anything.

"I… do not blame you for remembering, monsieur," the woman's wrinkles became apparent as they deformed in a mixture of shame and repentance. "We only saw each other a handful of days when you were very young. I am ashamed of my actions, I was not aware back then that I was dealing with monsieur le Prince of Flowers. I should never have dared to assist your person in the way I did, I hope the monsieur can forgive me."

As soon as Xochipilli was about what she was apologizing for, the curious usage of titles and accents that accompanied her speech betrayed the woman's identity.

"You are that maid…" He said in a near whisper.

"Indeed," the former maid nodded.

"How is it that you vanished overnight?"

"I… fear you might be aware of it, but the goddess vanished me upon laying my hands on you, Prince of Flowers." The glow in her eyes intensified as she mentioned 'the goddess' but it wasn't exactly dim when she referred to him too.

Back then he didn't understand what had happened that night, but many years had gone by, and now understood the severity of the woman's actions. However, it had been difficult to do so. The gap between cultures was big for when he spoke about it with his uncles he told him that the maid had tried to devour him, but when he mentioned it to one of the local Ydazi residents, she responded that it wasn't that uncommon even in lower-income households; that a nanny had done it to her brother when she was little.

It was hard to reconcile both facts into one because Xochipilli himself lacked a strong opinion on it. But the deciding factor wasn't any decision he had taken back then when he was a child or when he had later heard those opinions, but now. And at this exact moment, he only saw lament in the aging woman's visage.

She had only seen that gesture as a chore, but once she became aware that it was not culturally appropriate, she regretted performing it. That kind of consideration and willingness to change was noteworthy, for it was regrettably uncommon.

"I see," he responded with a formal, nearly royal tone. "I can excuse your actions as I can see they have taken a toll on your mind. And whilst you asked my consent before doing so, you must have in mind that the consent of a uniformed child holds no weight."

"Yes, monsieur. The goddess made it very clear to me that night."

Zeal. Those eyes are shining with zeal, he noticed a burning passion in the woman's gestures and gaze that wasn't that dissimilar from the dryads.

"One slight correction, though," Xochipilli interjected. "Do not call her goddess. She does not like when people call her so." Only I can, he kept those thoughts to himself. Those were dangerous thoughts that might turn even more so if he ever were to voice them aloud, to give them weight.

"Oh, my apologies!" The former maid's visage twisted into something short of abject horror. "How should I call her then, monsieur?"

"Isn't it clear?" The Prince of Plants smiled. "Mother Nature."