As much as I want her to be mine, she has to want it too. The stories of dryads charming humans into being their mates are partially true. I have some persuasive influence, but most of the cases are exaggerated. Made up by humans who can’t believe their friend chose to stay in the forest instead of returning to their usual life.
We’ve been sitting quietly together, Sadie with her back against the wall and me sitting on the bed. She must have many questions, but she’s either too frightened or too overwhelmed to ask. As the sun starts to set, I can sense the shift in the forest, a new group of critters and plants awakening and hearing the tale of the lost hiker for the first time.
It’s going to be a loud night.
“Are you…hungry?” I ask, still unsure of what I’ll do if she says yes.
“I’m fine,” Sadie says, right before her stomach growls. Her face turns red as she places a hand over her belly. “Maybe a little.”
“I don’t have any food.” I wince at the admission. If she chooses me, I’ll be able to bring her offerings from the forest as much as she needs to fill her belly many times over. Those privileges are for dryads and their mates only. No matter howmuch I might want them to, they don’t extend to the gorgeous ranger.
“I have some stuff I can eat. Do you mind?” She reaches for her backpack, opens the main pocket, and rifles through the odds and ends. What kinds of food can she carry that way? It amazes me how wide a range of options exists, based on what I’ve seen over the years. It used to be that folks who managed to get this far into the wilderness survived off the land. These days, I see people with all sorts of packable goodies. The worst of them toss the wrappers onto the forest floor, as though there is some custodial service that comes through here and does cleanup.
I have my own way of dealing with them. A few adjustments to ensure they lose the trail or never see the bird they’re looking for. Some days, I wish I could do more, punish the way my ancestors could. Now, we’re all about coexistence. At least that’s the word on the wind.
“Go ahead.” I wave my hand in her direction, unable to take my eyes off her as she pulls out a brightly colored bag.
“It’s a trail mix,” she says, obviously reading the confusion on my face. “I make it myself so I can put all my favorites in.”
I can’t help but stare as she puts a few pieces into her mouth. As she chews, she hums softly. Even from across the room, I can smell the sweetness of it—mostly things I don’t recognize, but a few plants and seeds that are familiar to me.
“Do you want to try it?” Sadie reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of the snack.
It’s hard to see the small items at this distance, so I move a little closer. It’s the shortest distance I’ve been from her since she found me along the wall. Her scent, a mix of earthy tones, wafts toward me. “What is it?”
“This one,” she says, pointing to a light-colored piece, “is a peanut. I’ve also got walnuts,Chex, yogurt-covered pretzels, and my favorite,M&Ms.”
“M&Ms?”
“It’s chocolate. Here.” She hands me a little red disc. It almost looks like a berry, but it doesn’t smell like one. I stick out my tongue and lick it gently.
A snicker pulls my glance. “Sorry, I’ve just never seen anyone eat it like that before.”
I resist the urge to tell her that I’m notanyone. Comparing me to the people she knows is a worthless endeavor. The fact that she’s thinking of me not as something to be feared, but rather as a friend, is a major step in the right direction. I toss the morsel in my mouth and swallow it whole.
“Oh, if you chew it, you’ll get more flavor.”
I look down at my empty hand. More than anything, I want to impress her. She drops another into my palm. This one is blue, like a drop of pure forest water.
“I chew it?” I ask to confirm so I don’t screw it up again.
“Yep.”
When the piece hits my tongue, I’m overwhelmed by a sweetness unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. More than even the ripest berries in peak season. Then it starts to dissolve, and the sweetness is replaced by a creamy sensation that coats my tongue.
“Oh,” I gasp.
“Good, right?” Sadie pops a handful of the trail mix into her mouth and chews.
“It’s perfect.” I’m about to say more when she coughs. At first, it’s a soft sound, but then she picks up steam, sputtering.
Shit. Should I have done more to warm her up properly? The inside of my tree is comfortable, but maybe it isn’t enough.
“Sorry, food went down the wrong way.” At some point, someone is going to need to explain human anatomy to me. Why would that even be a realistic option?
She pulls out a blue bottle, takes a sip, scowls, then tips it back upright. Empty. I practically dance over the situation. Finally, I can be helpful. I take the bottle and head over to the edge near the door. The tree parts, letting me slip between the ridges. Outside, I rush to a nearby creek, ignoring the insistent questions from around me. The longer I’m near Sadie, the surer I am that she’s the one for me.
That’s not an easy topic to broach. Telling someone that fate brought you together, especially when I’m nowhere close to human, isn’t easy. The shift inside me must be palpable, as many of the nearby trees seem to sense the shift. Some beg me to hurry up and seal the bond. Others are hesitant to agree to the change, cautioning me against making any rash decisions.
