#imayou

Imayou and her master.

And a second one because yay pain.

You have climbed many a tree before, but none could ever compare to your Master’s.  The scent of his bark calms you, settles your restless spirit.  His branches are tall and strong, and your claws are perfect for scrabbling up high until you reach his smiling face.  Hands - rough as the bark of his tree - run through your fur as you rest beside him.

You feel safe in his embrace, high above the ground.

It isn’t right that he doesn’t have any animal spirits to care for him, you think. A fine old tree deserves companions.  So you’ll take on the task yourself.  It’s far from a burden.  You merely wish to see him smile and speak in the tones of rustling leaves that you’ve come to care for.

When the humans come, they dismantle your shrine.  Your master’s branches, his arms, are cleaved away with sharp metal.

You flee at your master’s insistence, so the priest cannot catch you in the purification.

But your master cannot run, cannot pick up his roots and follow you.

And the humans cannot hear his pain, are unheedful of the sap - his lifeblood - running down his trunk.

Later, you return, and curl upon the stump of the sacred camphor tree that was once your beloved master.  And you cry for your loss.