The Right Words, Part IV
Nourd sat in the gardens that evening, trying to put words together. It didn’t help that every time he thought he had something, it didn’t come out right. Human language was so confusing.
How was poetry supposed to work? How could he dream of the forest with his own words? If he needed words, how was he supposed to know the right words? What if he didn’t know the right words?
He caught a familiar scent and spotted Oshal entering the gardens. There was a girl with him, one with brown skin. He had his arm through hers.
“Thank you, Demndun,” Oshal said. “I can find my way from here.” Oshal frowned in concentration, something he did when he was sensing for someone, then beamed. He turned toward an apprentice sitting on his own. “Apprentice Kurgm!”
The boy smiled at Oshal and walked over to him. The girl with Oshal, Demndun, froze in place, like a squirrel that had just heard a hawk overhead.
“Apprentice Kurgm, have you met Apprentice Demndun?” Oshal asked.
“We have history together, don’t we?” Kurgm asked.
“Yeah,” Demndun said. “You’re… um… you’re really good at it.”
“I’ll see you both later,” Oshal said, smelling rather proud of himself. He tapped his way over to Nourd and sat down.
“I believe that female wants to mate with that male,” Nourd said. “Why does she make no indication of it? Her current approach is not going to work. He is not aware of this.”
“They’ll figure it out. It’s harder for humans.”
This didn’t come as a shock to Nourd. Everything was harder for humans. Why did they make their lives so difficult?
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t feel good when you get rejected by someone you like, so most people don’t risk saying anything. Other people close themselves off so no one can hurt them.”
Nourd wondered if he would be the same. So far, the only person he liked at all was Oshal, but Oshal was male. Oshal couldn’t be his mate, could he?
“Are you still worrying about poetry?” Oshal asked.
“I liked the words Anej used,” Nourd said, allowing his lingering confusion to fade away. “But I cannot remember what they were.”
Oshal scrunched up his face in thought. Nourd wondered what words he would use to describe Oshal, but he didn’t know the human language well enough to do even that.
“Maybe it’s like weaving,” Oshal said at last. “Humans can use weaving to make other humans feel something. I… I’ve done it before, but…” Oshal’s voice trailed off. He shook his head and smiled. “Everything’s fine now. Anyway, I can’t use it on myself. Not exactly, anyway. Trying to use weaving on myself is just thinking happy thoughts. I think poetry is like weaving, but using words to change peoples’ minds instead of threads.”
Oshal had tried explaining weaving to him before, but that was the first time Nourd had ever understood it. Could Oshal make him feel at home, like Anej had?
“Can you use weaving on me?”
Oshal shook his head. The air filled with panic and fear, something Nourd had never smelled coming from Oshal before.
“No. No, I can’t. I… I can’t explain why, but I can’t. Well, I can, but I shouldn’t. Weaving’s dangerous, and I shouldn’t use it on other people.”
Nourd began to panic too. Oshal had never been like this. Nourd knew he’d upset other humans, and had learned not to care about them, but Oshal was different. He didn’t want to upset Oshal.
“I did not mean to upset you.”
Oshal took several deep breaths. The fear in the air began to fade away.
“It’s fine. I… It’s nothing to worry you about. I’m sorry.”
Oshal smiled at him, but it wasn’t the same smile as usual. There was something different about him. Maybe it was the lingering smell of fear coming from him. It didn’t smell right on Oshal. It was foul, sickening, like a body that had been rotting too long in the sun.
“You smell scared,” Nourd said. “I do not like it.”
They sat together in silence for a time. The smells around Oshal shifted through fear and happiness, but they all faded away the longer the silence persisted.
“Next time you go into the forest, write down how it makes you feel. Then next time you miss it, you’ll have something to remind you of the forest.”
“I cannot read or write. Master Gorkle is teaching me, but it is confusing. I like it better in the forest, where everything is communicated with smells.”
“Oh. Maybe someone can write it down for you.”
Nourd perked up. “You can write it for me. I really want you to see the forest. You would like it there. It is safe, and there are rules that are not confusing like human rules, and the creatures are friendly and do not get frightened when you insist that you will not kill them. They will all like you a lot, because you are nice and will not hunt innocent forest creatures.”
Oshal smiled, and this time, it was a good smile.
“That sounds nice. I would like to go some time, but I can’t write anymore. I didn’t like writing before, or reading really. The grownups in our tribe used to tell us stories, but books were always really boring. Not for Roshil, though. If she wants to know something, she won’t stop until she’s figured it out.”
“Stories make more sense. That is how wisdom is passed down through generations in the forest. We learn to survive that way.” Nourd thought for a moment, then added, “You should still come to the forest.”
He thought of how happy Oshal would be to see everything in the forest. Elder Wolf and Elder Bear would like him. He wouldn’t be able to play with the wolf pups like Nourd could, but Oshal was always so happy and kind that they would like him anyway.
“I like the forest,” Oshal said. “I haven’t spent much time there, but it’s so peaceful. I don’t have to worry about how everyone’s feeling.”
“Oshal!”
The boy from earlier, Kurgm, came over to them.
“It’s almost curfew,” he said. “Demndun and I are going to start heading back.”
“Okay,” Oshal said. “Apprentice Kurgm, this is Apprentice Nourd. He’s a druid.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kurgm said.
Nourd still didn’t understand the correct way to greet someone. Was that it? “Nice to meet you”? What if it wasn’t nice at all? Nourd didn’t want to meet this person, he wanted to talk with Oshal more.
Oshal took a piece of something humans called “parchment” from one of his holding sacks, or “pouches” as Master Gorkle called them.
“I know you can’t read it,” Oshal said, “but I found Apprentice Anej at dinner and asked her to write down her poem.” He pressed it into Nourd’s hand. Oshal’s hand was warm and gentle. It sent a tingling feeling through Nourd’s arm. “Maybe Grand Master Gorkle can teach you to read it.”
The jumpiness that Nourd felt when he ate chocolate returned. A smile stretched over his face.
“Maybe you can write your own someday,” Oshal said. “I always like to hear about your life in the forest.” He stood up. “We’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Yes. Of course. More later. Tomorrow?”
“I’ll try.” Oshal smiled at him. “Good night.”
“It is a good night.” Nourd’s voice sounded strange to him. It was crackly and higher than normal.
Nourd watched them leave, then looked down at the parchment in his hand. He didn’t have any dead skin holding sacks of his own, but he could ask Master Gorkle for one. For once, he had something worth keeping.