Death and The Dryad: A Tale of Attumn’s End

The leaves were already turning from the colors of an inferno to the dismal lifeless brown. The branches of the trees that had once housed those very leaves were becoming bare and taking on the appearance of skeletal fingers raised in ancient supplication to God above.

Into this contrasting scene of bleakness and beauty walked a lone figure. This new arrival was a male bearing only the faintest trace of human form.

His skin was almost as yellow as the leaves beneath his bare feet. His body was covered in leaves and something that almost could be called tree bark.

This newcomer was a dryad, one of those sprites that for long centuries has watched over the forests before fading into antiquity. He looked forlorn as he scanned the dying trees and felt the ice cold impact of winter times first salvo.

Straight ahead another figure materialized. The stranger was shrouded from head to toe in a black cloak. One hand as skeletal as the naked tree branches above grasped a tall sythe. The other hand beckoned to the forest sprite.

This was the figure the dryad dreaded to meet yet knew he must. It was the same year after year. This figure intruded upon his people. He must know why.

He was now face to face with the dour figure. Oh how horrible a face it was. Patches of necrotic flesh clung to a yellowed skull. The empty sockets regarded the mythical being before. Then the jaw bone moved up and down to form speech. "You've sought me out. Why?"

"I must know," replied the dryad in a shaky voice, "why must your hand sweep over my kind this same time every year. It troubles me."

"It is part of the Grand Cycle. The Forest sleeps my sleep thus your people die off as well for the cycle of the forest is your domain. The water nymphs go through the same thing when the waters freeze.

"This is all part of the design of the Father of Craftsmanship. It wasn't so in the early days of the Grand Design but it became necessary. As did my existence."

"Necessary for what?" asked the dryad of the Grim Reaper.

"Why the joyous event of rebirth. I'm nothing to fear despite my unsightly visage. Without my presence so much couldn't come into existence: New foliage, your successors who will watch over the forests when spring comes around again. They would not know the joy of life if not for me, Death."

The Reaper paused to let his words register with his companion. Then he continued, "As the sacred writings have foretold there'll come a time when everything will be reborn permanently and on that day I shall perish. It is a day I look forward to."

"Why would death look forward to death?"

"Because I will have no role to play. I will not have to take souls and wither trees. It will be as the Grand Design was meant to be from the moment of its conception."

"I think I understand now," said the dryad.

"So are you ready for your passing and the coming of Winter?"

"Yes."

"Then take my hand."

And so the forest guardian did. Just as the first snow flakes began to fall.