Maidenhair

From across the land spans a vast forest; that which contains many colonies and species. Across the land spans countless flora, budding petals and vigorous woods. Innumerable hands of growth,  sprouting from the dirt, tall with generous cloves, surrounded by fronds abound. All of which hold little interest for him; for the verdure does not call him to trek. No, he seeks something much larger, a darker group of foliage, from which the Maidenhair stands rooted. Many days and nights he spends, travelling from the village in trial to find the deepest end. Much of the forest enveloped in shade, yet his journey requires a tree matured beyond the age of the soil inhabited. 

"It bothers you not, friend?" Birds of varying size and color flock outward, attempting to budge the thick shield of green protruding from the Maidenhair as the voice echoes, to and fro, in all directions. "It does not" he responds, "For my entreaties are urgent; as well my kin depend on me, like a flower depends on sun." He kneels before the Maidenhair, laying rest on the engorged yet dry roots that span miles along the forest turf. With a deep sigh that shifts the wind, the Maidenhair tenses. "You forge words of steel; what is it you ask of me now?" 

With great effort, the Maidenhair begins to procure; from below it's lowest branches, to the thickest of it's roots. A primrose; for one of great irritation of the skin. Ginseng; for the recovery of hunters, and the fertility of their people. Copious bulbs, leaflets, and stems and roots. While sourced from surrounding green, one such request requires egregious sacrifice. "One must inquire, dear maiden, for it is the longevity of his people." With the words departure from his lips, the elder begins to prepare; immense shifting and swaying. Hundreds of branches begin their descent, showering leaves upon him; as he speaks. "It is of great dismay that I bestow upon you these words; for trepidation I aspire not." The Maidenhair strains, continuing to oscillate at increasing momentum. Branches themselves pry from their wooden stand, plummeting around him, the very earth shaking with each drop.

Gathering the last wood, enwrapping them with generous leaves of the Maidenhair; large enough to clothe oneself. Extending gratitude with impure eyes; kneeling once again before it's now barren body, he begins. "It is with great honor, maiden." A disrupting low bleat, wind flowing through the leafless branches; a wailing that can be heard by all. "Time has passed, and soon I shall; for kin of yours exceed the limits of nature." Golden sun beats down on them, providing no more nuisance for the Maidenhair than he. "It is imperative, that you nurture" From few remaining limbs, extends a poultice; a surviving brethren that resolves the serendipity of it's species. 

And so, his journey continues. Advancing back to his people, contemplating great recompense and bountiful feasts. "Upon me, they shall look; for I bring vitality." Shuffling through foliage, striking down any that would bar his way. "Upon me, they shall kneel; for I bring valor." Yielding no more than once during his voyage; no more than once of three days and three nights. "Upon me, they shall rejoice; for I bring tenacity." No more than once, he yields; to bring forth and take from this poultice. A seed, baring life. A physical presentation; an arrangement of vitality and preceding growth. "Upon me, they shall bow;" Splicing, in two. A perfect nut; one that tastes bitter and of forebode. "for I bring strength."