#lgbtrees

Vitya is worried about the forest - he's been worried for years now, if he's honest.

He's taken to wandering these days, walking the depths of the forest in search of some explanation, yet finding none. It's frustrating and frightening in equal measure.

Nyéraldë is his home, is his life. While others have moved on and away from the old forest, Vitya has bedded in further. He'd passed up the chance to move on decades ago, preferring the familiar, loving his forest. Every sapling first finding its voice, every creaking branch he wills into strength with his songs, he loves them all.

Nyéraldë doesn't sing anymore though, the trees had fallen silent some time ago and the branches creaks have become more aged than grumbling in the last five years. The walk from his home-tree to the heart-tree has become a study in silence.

Vitya doesn't know what's causing it, but he wants to find out, he needs to if he wants the forest to survive the coming winter.

Makka is keeping him company today, flitting between branches and turning over fallen leaves as she searches the forest floor. Her leonine features radiate concern, if pixies can feel concern, that is. Vitya suspects she just likes to imitate him as he picks his way through the trees, finding stray fallen branches that make his heart hurt.

The further he gets from his home-tree the worse the forest seems to get. It's quiet, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and Makka’s wingbeats. They're working their way east today, investigating the paths that have been so disused since the appearance of the small camp of nomadic humans who had claimed the land bordering the forest hundreds of years prior.

Vitya remembers their arrival, watching from the green branches heavy with flowers that made him want to sneeze, but he hadn't wanted to scare the humans who were so new and so interesting so he'd hidden. Their arrival had been a stone dropped into the pond of the forest, leading to the waves that had swept his family and friends away under the weight.

But back then? Vitya had been excited. There were humans, he'd heard stories of them before, heard rumours of their hardy industriousness and creativity, and now he could see them. He could study them and learn their arts, and maybe one day even meet them and speak their languages. He had met them, eventually, he'd snuck out with his friends while their parents were busy and caused a commotion in the small village the encampment had spawned.That had been the herald of the first families leaving the forest, they'd had a distrust of the camp for years, but the fact the Humans now knew of their existence? It was too big a risk for their delicate sensibilities.

Vitya had continued his visits back then, using the cover of darkness to visit the aging village wise woman and learned her language, she had been a delicate thing, in the last years of her human life and had rejoiced in being allowed such a gift as meeting him. In turn Vitya told her the truth of the forest, he didn't feel his company was a gift enough for the things Morgana imparted to him, and it was all he had to truly offer her in return.

Then, one day he snuck through the trees, having been secluded away for a heart-tree ceremony for many nights, and Morgana was gone. Her place had been taken by her daughter, a woman in middle age whom Vitya had never met and who's name he did not know.

He left the Village without a word, returning to the forest. He never spoke of his time with Morgana, nor was found out in his late night wanderings, but the families and friends dwindled away regardless.

It's around the banks of the stream he first notices it, he's been so caught up in his memories he hadn't noticed he’d fallen back to his old winding path to the village, but he hears something.

A tiny whisper of a note hanging in the air.

Makka halts mid-air, turning to the other bank with her golden eyes scanning the trees before she darts away, iridescent wings shining in the pale mornings’ light as she disappears from sight. Vitya follows almost as quickly but nowhere near as silently, he's splashing through the stream noisily, scanning the bank for signs of his errant friend and straining to hear the lingering note of song over the sound of the water. He's made the treeline by the time he catches sight of Makka again, she's hovering mid-air again, staring at something in the clearing ahead of her.

The whispered song grows to a steady hum. Vitya’s heart, so attuned to the forest, is thumping heavily against his ribs as he approaches the clearing. It's not a true song, it's muted and almost shy in comparison to how the forest once sang, but it's there and something in the clearing must be causing it.

His feet, usually so sure over the blanketing leaves of the forest floor, falter for a moment - then he feels Makkas tiny hands gripping his tunic with immeasurable strength, pulling him forward as her tiny wings beat furiously and he's over balanced. He manages to catch himself in a mockery of his usual grace, but still stumbles into the clearing, and the arms of the dark haired figure awaiting him.

It’s been a slow fall for the forest, he knows because he’s been watching it happen before his eyes. As a child he’d been fascinated by the trees, enchanted by the tales of Elves and creatures living in its depths. He’d followed his father diligently, hunting and trapping, earning the trust that came with handling a bow slowly as he gathered the games and filled baskets with pears and lychees. He’d been seven years old before his father had gifted him a practice bow, left behind more often than not to practice his aim on the stumps and packed straw targets they’d made by hand.

Yuuri had made slow progress at first, fumbling his dulled arrows and shooting more than one stray bolt into the trees, but once he began he learned and refined his technique until his father deemed him good enough to begin practice on moving targets. The sessions with his father swinging a filled sack from a tree limb had been hilarious and raucous, filled with his and his best friend Phichits laughter at Toshiya’s teary eyed huffing when Yuuri had caught him in the cheek with a padded bolt. His father had been proud, if a little caught off-guard by Yuuri’s progress, and had set him to hunting with Phichit in his wake and empty sacks at their hips. They would eat what they caught that day. His mother, Hiroko had fussed a little over them as they left the cottage, but had relented at their matching expressions of determination. Fifteen years later, the thought of himself and Phichit having such gall makes him laugh, but at the time they had been dead set on becoming useful, on earning their keeps and helping their families.

He was so young then, so small and untried. He’d still believed Yukko’s tales of Elves in the forest who were wonderful, beautiful, and wise. Yuuri had been convinced of them, even. He’d seen an Elf as a child, he’d bragged to Yuuko. With hair as bright as silver and eyes as green as the pools in Lindalde itself. His younger self had been a dreamer, he mused as he made his way to the forest stream. He’d been so caught up in tales and wishing to prove himself, he’d convinced himself his dreams were reality.

At twenty-three, Yuuri sees himself reflected in the pools and streams of Lindalde, strong limbed and serious as he checks the nets for fish and takes yet more from the forest that has given him so much over the course of his life. He tries to give back, to be respectful to the forest that provides his sustenance and even the shelter of his family home, cut from the trunks of the forests trees. As he hunts he clears stray fallen branches, he frees up vines where they snarl and tangle the roots of trees, he gives thanks to the forest for every rabbit, deer, and fish. He still feels it is not enough for what he is granted in return, but he tries.

The nets have nothing for him today, Yuuri isn’t surprised, it’s heading towards the chill of autumn at an alarming rate and the salmon are all gone for the season. It doesn’t hurt to check in the last days though, in the creeping shortening of Winter that keeps him from the forest in a real way. There’s plenty left to do before they reel in the nets and traps though, Phichit is looking for the last of the Pear and Apple crops that have blossomed later and later each year, he’s hoping they’ll have a better yield than last year. He’s worried about food-stores, as he is every year, especially recently when Lindalde seems to be retreating into itself. He sends an errant thought at the forest, concern and love wrapped tightly together as he walks the familiar trail to his clearing.

Yuuri likes to think of it as his clearing, a tiny enclosed space in the forest he comes to think in. It’s hidden from the main trail by the shade of hazel bushes that are thick enough not to be traversable, unless you happened to fall through them while trying to track a deer and landed face first in them, discovering the clearing after struggling noisily out of the bushes on the other side. It had been a stunning sight, a piece of the forest untouched and unsullied in the bright spring sunlight kissing the heavy branches of the trees surrounding it. He had made it his, now, by virtue of his upkeep and love.The glade is as silent and well preserved as a holy place, it’s a home from home he can visit in times when he needs to relax. It’s an undisturbed chapel of tranquility.

Or, it is normally.

Today, however his silent rumination on the state of the harvests is interrupted by the crashing sound of footfalls, punctuated by the appearance of a silver-haired someone who falters in his step upon spotting Yuuri, his face lined in surprise as he slips. Years of training and honing his reflexes kick in before Yuuri can really comprehend what he’s seeing and Yuuri is moving across the small space between them, catching the man before he can fall.

“Makka!” The man calls, whatever that means, and then blinks up at Yuuri owlishly. His eyes are a green-blue that is reminiscent of the colour of the Lindalde’s pools in spring, his hair a woven silver that harkens to the moon reflected in the same waters. Yuuri blinks at the man, so suddenly in his arms and clutching his leather jerkin for dear life. “Oh! Uh, oops. Hello.”

“Hello…” There’s something familiar about him, something known that catches Yuuri off-guard for a second as he steadies the man and helps him to his feet. The man scans the clearing, eyes settling on one of the Hazels and frowning at it before he turns back to Yuuri.

“Who are you?” The man asks, his eyes roaming over Yuuri’s face, as though looking for something. Yuuri wriggles uncomfortably under the scrutiny, he’s used to passing unnoticed, to walking the forests paths silently in pursuit of prey. This kind of assessing gaze travelling over him makes him want to curl in on himself and hide.

“Uh, I’m Yuuri…”

“Oh.” He drops his study of Yuuri to gaze around the clearing again, a small frown furrowing his brow. He’s intense as he looks over the wiry bushes and the long grass. “What are you doing here, Yuuri?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked what you’re doing in my forest.” He asks, his attention back on Yuuri and watching him closely. Yuuri feels his temper rise and has to stomp it down, he and Phichit have been the de facto hunters of this forest for ten years now and have never encountered strangers in their depths, amorous lovers, yes, strangers, no. If this person thinks this is their forest then Yuuri will have to explain the reality of the situation to them quickly and with minimal fuss.

“This isn’t your forest, it doesn’t belong to anyone, but if it did -”

“Wrong, actually, but I appreciate the sentiment. It’s nice to meet you, very much so, but this is my forest and I’d like an explanation of what you’re doing here, and how you’re making the trees sing. Now.” He draws himself up to his full height, tall and willowy and all together elegant in a way that Yuuri has only ever heard of in song, and that’s when Yuuri realises just what this man is. No, not man. This being, is an elf - is the Elf of Lindalde Forest, and Yuuri is trespassing in his home.

“I’m what?” Yuuri’s brain seems to be short-circuiting, or something like that because he could have sworn the tree-elf accused him of making the trees sing, and of all the parts of that sentence he understands, the only one that makes sense is the accusation of wrongdoing. “You think I’m doing something to the trees?”

The elf, his head high and silvery strands falling from his braid, fixes him with an assessing look. “Aren't you?”

“No? I don't think so?” Yuuri glances around the clearing, watching the leaves rustle in the wind and tries to imagine them singing. He can focus on the shift of the leaves and branches, the whisper of the wind over the grass, but it makes no cohesive song to his hearing. The elf clears his throat, dragging Yuuri’s attention back to him and back to the assessing look. “Um, I’m a hunter.”

“A hunter?”

“Yes, I gather food and game for my family and to sell -”

“I know what a hunter is.” The elf waves a hand dismissively, still watching Yuuri closely. “What is it about you… Hunters are usually unwanted by the forest…”

“I, uh, I don’t know. But maybe I should just…” He gestures to the small gap in the Rowans that the elf had fallen through, intending on removing himself as quickly and harmlessly as possible from the elfs potential wrath.

“Oh. No, no don’t leave. I’m just -” There’s a chirp from one of the trees that pulls the elf’s attention for a second and his features twist in distaste for a second, he schools his expression and turns back to Yuuri. “Yes Makka, that too but mostly confused why Nyéraldë is reacting like this to a hunter, of all the humans.”

“What’s Makka?” Yuuri doesn’t know why he asks, but the thought of his being held captive by and elf that talks to thin air is more than he can bear right now, he’s worried enough about the harvest and the forest without adding an addled elf to the list.

“Oh, sorry, that was rude of me - this is Makka, come out darling.” There’s another chirp and Yuuri frowns at the treeline, trying to discern the source and failing. The elf huffs out a disgruntled sound in reply to the chirp, which is followed up by yet another chirp and the elf replies with a burst of indignant huffing. “Fine, fine. I’ll ask, but Makka, you’re making me look silly in front of Yuuri. Be a nice Pixie won’t you?”

“A Pixie?” Yuuri can’t help but sound astonished, Pixies are rare creatures who’re shy of human contact and he’s only ever seen them in the books at Yuuko’s house.

“Yes, a pixie. A very bad pixie if she doesn’t show herself soon.” The elf stresses the words in just the right way that one of the Rowan bushes shivers with movement as the Pixie - Makka, apparently - reveals herself. Yuuri makes a tiny noise of delight when she flies over to the elf, her leonine features sulky as she hover’s at head height and chirps at the elf again and gestures at Yuuri. She’s tiny, about the length of Yuuri’s forearm, a humanoid creature with dense curls covering all but her face and curling around her ears in a fuzzy mane. “Yes, Makka, I’ll get to it. Just, be nice to Yuuri okay, I don’t think he’s met a Pixie before and you’re making a terrible first impression.”

Makka chirps at the elf again, crossing her arms over her fuzzy chest and frowning at him for a second before she turns to Yuuri, darting across the space between them quickly and investigating his clothing, tiny hands impossibly strong and determined as they dip into his pockets. “Oh! Uh, hello.”

“Makka, stop that! Don’t harass Yuuri!” The elf sounds utterly embarrassed now, his cheeks flushing at his Pixies behaviour. Makka only chirps back at him unconcernedly and continues searching Yuuri’s jerkin until she unearths a single plum he’d picked up on his way out of his parents cottage this morning, her chirps are pitched excitedly and she flutters to head height and waves her prize in Yuuri’s face. “Makka, that’s Yuuri’s.”

“Oh, no it’s fine, she can have it if she likes.” Yuuri shrugs. The Pixie seems excited about the small fruit, and Yuuri had found a tree laden with the things only last week. Makka dances in the air for a moment, a victorious swirling of hair and her plum clutched tightly in her arms, before she floats back to the elf and settles on his shoulder, fussing at the silver strands that are still slightly mussed from the elfs fall. “She seems to like plums.”

“She loves them, ridiculous thing that she is.” The elf says fondly, earning himself a muffled sound from the depths of the fruit which the Pixie is devouring at an alarming rate. “Thank you - for letting her have it, I mean - you’ve made her very happy.”

“It’s fine, I can find more.”

“Yes, you can.” The elf is watching him again, his gaze is warmer now and he looks almost relaxed. “You’re a very strange human, hunter Yuuri.”

“Um, thank you…” Yuuri trails off, waiting for the elf to fill the silence.

“Vitya.” The elf - Vitya - supplies, still considering him.

“Thank you, Vitya.” The name is strange on his tongue, heavy and purposeful and Yuuri wonders at the shape of it.

“Yuuri, you hunt the forest.”

“Yes?”

“Do you care for it?” Vitya asks, his features solemn.

“Of course I do, without Lindalde I have no livelihood.” Yuuri frowns, but Vitya doesn’t look appeased by his answer.

“Most hunters only take, they help themselves to what they can get their hands on and walk away-”

“I would never -” Yuuri starts, his temper flaring again at the insinuation.

“That! That’s what make you different!” Vitya says triumphantly, reminding Yuuri of his Pixie, who’s head darts between the two before she returns to her fruit with a minute eye-roll that makes Yuuri want to laugh at the incongruity of the action. “You care about the forest, then you must have noticed that it is failing?”

“I… yes, I’ve been worried for some time now.”

“Yes. It has gone on far too long.” Vitya looks troubled and grave, the emotions aging him in Yuuri’s eyes. The elf shakes himself free of the feelings with a toss of his head, settling his gaze on Yuuri and looking hopeful. “Would you… help me? I’ve been looking for the source but to no avail, and Nyéraldë seems to respond to you…”

Help the elf? Yuuri isn’t sure he’d be of any use to Vitya, but the forest... Lindalde - Nyéraldë as Vitya calls it - is his livelihood, his childhood and his adulthood all rolled up in the eaves of the trees. The success of his family has depended upon its charity for three generations, they’ve hunted and gathered from it for years. The spare meat and skins they send to other members of the Village, trading for vegetables and pots, clothing woven of wools and supplies to hunt with. It’s not just himself and his family who rely upon Lindale’s kindness, there are webs of connection and need spun out from its trees and branches. If Vitya thinks he can help, then Yuuri wants to, has to for the sake of the forest he loves and the people he holds dear.

“I’ll help you, Vitya. As best as I can I’ll help you find the solution to this problem.”

Vitya’s heartfelt thanks is lost under the rapid chirping of Makka as she takes wing again, plum seed falling from her hands as she cheers and dances. Yuuri isn’t sure what he’s gotten himself in for, or what he can even do, but both Makka and Vitya are alight with a happiness which is infectious, spreading through the clearing. Yuuri feels a responding smile on his own face, and laughs as Vitya catches his hands, and tells him to meet them the next day in the same place, waving a jaunty goodbye once Yuuri agrees and fleeing the clearing with a spring in his step.

Yuuri watches the gap in the Rowans where Vitya and Makka had disappeared for a long time afterwards, trying to convince himself it was not all a particularly vivid dream.

First Chapter

Vitya sees the competitive light in Yuuri’s eye when they race to the tree line, he sees the way Yuuri allows Vitya to indulge in it, and he wants more - of course he wants more of Yuuri, Yuuri is funny and silly but with a bedrock of competence and solidity that Vitya craves in his life.

“You want me to climb a tree and race you? In the rain?” Yuuri gives him an unimpressed look that sparks Vitya’s smile again. “You’re aware that you have an unfair advantage right?”

“Well, as you said, it’s raining so we’ll both have to be careful!” Yuuri rolls his eyes at this and hums thoughtfully.

“Okay, where do I start?” Vitya shows him to the tree, and Yuuri scoffs at him when he tries to explain how to climb it. “Vitya, you may think of Lindalde as your forest, but I’ve been climbing its trees since I was old enough to pull myself up.”

“Someone is sure of themselves…” The comment wins Vitya another grin, all teeth and challenge and Vitya returns it in kind. And then Yuuri’s making his way up the trunk, sure in his movements and only hesitating for a second between handholds.

Vitya watches him, waiting for any sign that Yuuri may falter, but he doesn't. He climbs as though it’s second nature to him, his leather jerkin taut over his back when he reaches one particularly difficult stretch. His form is perfect, as though he’d been born to it as Vitya had. His strong legs propel him up the trunk as though he were an elf himself, and Vitya spends a moment staring before he realises that he’s effectively watching Yuuri’s backside as he scales the tree.

It is a very nice backside though…

It’s a very, very nice backside. It’s one of the best backsides Vitya has ever seen and he’s seen a lot of backsides in his time…

He’s snapped out of his musing once the backside in question disappears into the eaves, and Yuuri’s face replaces it. Vitya isn’t complaining about the replacement. It’s a very nice face, too… As far as Vitya has seen, there isn’t a part of Yuuri that isn’t nice -

“Are you just giving me a head start or gawping at me?” Yuuri calls down, amusement tingeing his voice.

Now fully aware of himself, Vitya makes quick work of scaling the tree and finds Yuuri standing at the entry to the sky-bridge, taking in the intricate criss crossing of the eaves and woven branches with wide eyes.

“This is incredible.” Yuuri shoots him a wide eyed look of wonder before he's examining the bridge more closely, barely noticing the rain. “Did you say all of the trees have bridges between them?”

Vitya joins him at the bridge and lays a hand on the intricate lacing of branches that serve as a hand hold, “Most of the habitable ones, yes. They've mostly fallen to wildness now, I haven't enough time to tend every bridge in the forest…” Vitya tells him, there's a downturn to Yuuri’s expression at that but the rain chooses to redouble its efforts of soaking them and Vitya sends Yuuri a bright smile, “Anyway, I was promised a race!”

“I'm not sure it's going to be much of a race, I'll probably get swept off the bridge by the rain!” Yuuri chuckles at the concept but it makes Vitya’s stomach sour at the thought.

“Okay, not a race then. I'll just show you the bridges and tell you about the trees we pass!” Vitya offers, Yuuri looks like he'd like to argue, but Vitya forestall his protests by grabbing his hand once more - and pulling Yuuri after him - leads them into the treetops.

First Chapter

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It has Yuuri distracted for the whole week, ruminating over what Vitya might possibly have to show him, what is so important that Vitya would look so uncharacteristically serious. Mari comments on his preoccupation, poking at his side when he’s skinning rabbits - or meant to be skinning them, he’s sat with a knife in one hand and staring at the rabbits with a small frown. “What’s up with you? You’ve been out of it for days!”

Yuuri puts her off with half answers, ‘he's worried about the forest’, ‘he's wondering if they'll catch much game next summer,’. Mari picks up the thread of conversation and talks at him for half an hour about how there had been a bad summer the year that she was four and they'd managed to make it through by tightening belts that winter. Yuuri nods along to the familiar story, humming in the right places and is grateful his big sister isn't any sharper eyed. If she were, she would notice that he was coming back from Lindalde once a week empty handed and exhausted after his treks with Vitya.

By the time Yuuri makes it to the clearing that week he's wrung out with worry, having lost more than one night's sleep to wondering just what Vitya might be so determined to show him. His pack is heavy against his back, laden with enough food to feed the pair of them, and he’s even brought blankets just in case they don't make it back in time…

“You look like a pack horse.” Vitya emerges from the Rowans with a raised brow, taking in Yuuri’s precautions in one swift look. Yuuri shrinks a little at the comment, knowing that his tendency to overthink might have pushed him in the wrong direction.

“Sorry… you didn't say how long…” Yuuri trails off feeling uncomfortable with the elf for the first time in weeks. “I thought it best to -”

“No, no! It's good. There's a bit of a walk ahead of us and I'm sure you've brought enough for us to get there safe and happy!” Vitya rushes to assure him, stepping closer and laying a hand to his shoulder. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

“What are you thanking me for? My over packing?” Yuuri asks weakly, his heart thumping at the touch of Vitya’s hand and the way the elf had smiled as he thanked him. Vitya’s laugh is light and sweet, a balm against Yuuri’s nerves.

“I'm thanking you in advance.” The elf tells him, with an expression that Yuuri can't quite place. He doesn't get a chance to puzzle it out before Vitya is turning away and calling over his shoulder. “We had better head out, it might take a while for us to get there.”

“To get where?” Yuuri asks, not expecting an answer as he hurries to catch up. True to form, Vitya doesn't answer him, but chimes ‘You'll see!’ as Yuuri falls into step beside him.

They wend their way through the forest, conversation sporadic as Vitya leads them with his head high. Yuuri has seen Vitya playful, has seen him serious, has seen him anxious and worried, but has never seen him looking so solidly resolute as he is right now. It's such a juxtaposition from his usually high-spirits that Yuuri keeps finding himself watching the elf as he moves, each step deliberate and sure.

Hours slide by them, they’re deep in the forest and for the first time in years Yuuri isn’t able to orient himself by landmark. It should make him nervous, but Vityas steady pace and sure steps are reassuring, guiding him where he cannot.

When they settle at the roots of a gnarled tree, far older than those near the village, Yuuri asks again where they're headed. Vitya grins at the question, “Don't you trust me, Yuuri?” he asks playfully but the question makes Yuuri pause.

He does trust Vitya, he trusts his kindness to Makka and his sunny smiles while they walk together. He trusts Vitya’s love of the forest and his honesty in wanting to find a way to bring it back from its slumber.

Yuuri trusts Vitya in a way that he's only ever trusted a few; his family, his mentors, his childhood friends…

“Of course I trust you, Vitya.” Yuuri tries to keep his voice as airy as Vitya’s had been, but he know he fails - Vitya’s frown evidence enough of his miss. Yuuri casts around for another subject quickly, scrambling to save face. “Where's Makka today?”

It's not much of a conversation starter; “Probably getting up to mischief somewhere.” Vitya shrugs and answers around a mouthful of peach. Yuuri’s half tempted to chide him for his manners, but the elf looks so happy that Yuuri lets it go and helps himself to a handful of berries.

“How is the forest? Have you heard it sing recently?” Yuuri asks when he’s not chewing.

Vitya gives him an assessing look that has Yuuri hoping he hasn’t got berry juice on his chin. “There was something… but I’m not sure. I still think it has something to do with you…” Vitya trails off, looking lost in thought and Yuuri doesn’t push the subject, even though he’s buzzing with questions. Instead he ruminates over them as they pack up the remnants of their lunch and start walking again.

As the sun passes over them, heavy in the sky and casting long shadows in the afternoon, Vitya starts to hesitate in his direction. It’s not much, a frown here and a glance above them there, but Yuuri notices that the elf seems less sure of their path now. “Are you okay? We’re not lost are we?”

“No, no! Not lost!” Vitya waves a hand breezily and glances above them again, drawing Yuuri’s gaze but whatever is occupying him is beyond Yuuri’s sight. “I’m just not used to getting there on the forest floor, I’m making sure we’re still on track.”

“If you don’t walk there how on earth do you get there?” Yuuri wonders aloud, not expecting an answer.

“I don’t go ‘by earth’ I go by tree!” Vitya tells him cheerfully. When Yuuri frowns in confusion at the answer Vitya beckons him to his side, and points above them. “See, just there…”

Yuuri doesn’t see, he frowns deeper and squints up to the eaves. Seeing his expression Vitya pulls Yuuri flush to his front and pulls his wrist up, pointing with Yuuri’s fingers to a twist of branches that Yuuri had overlooked as a casualty of the forest’s hibernation.

“See that? It’s a sky-bridge.” Vitya’s breath is warm against Yuuri’s cheek and Yuuri is suddenly aware of the fact that they’re pressed front to back and Vitya’s fingers are on his hip. A blush works its way to his cheeks as he nods. “There was a time long ago when every tree in the forest was connected by the sky-bridges, then the forest outgrew the elves and we stopped building them - or so I was told when I was young.”

Vitya sounds wistful, far away and lost in memories. Yuuri wishes he had the courage to turn in Vitya’s arms and offer him some small comfort - words or maybe a hug - but he doesn’t.

“There aren’t many of the bridges that are still maintained, only the ones I can keep up with…” The fingers against Yuuri’s hip tighten for a second, a tiny grip that speaks volumes.

“So all of this… used to be the elves homes?”

“Some, yes others were storestrees and meeting trees. It - there used to be a community but…” The fingers at Yuuri’s wrist tremble and Yuuri can’t help but turn his hand, steadying Vitya’s hand with his own and pressing their palms together.

“You don’t have to -” He whispers, he doesn’t dare speak any louder because he can feel Vitya’s chest connect to his back in a steadying breath.

“I know. I… I’m okay.” Vitya parts their bodies, dropping Yuuri’s hand as he turns back to their path. “Just… follow me? I’ll explain soon but I want to show you…”

Vitya looks young and lost when he turns back to Yuuri, he looks alone and scared. Yuuri nods again, falling into step beside the elf and letting his fingers glance across the back of Vitya’s hand.

When Vitya takes the touch for the invitation it is, and links their fingers again, Yuuri gives his hand a reassuring squeeze he hopes Vitya takes as the reassurance he’s giving.

First Chapter

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Vit’enka...

A name with sharp consonants that had hurt as his parents had left, a name sharp in rebuke when Yakov had questioned him. His memories felt like pins, each one pricking against his loneliness as he bedded down into the furs that made up his bed.

Vit’enka…

It hadn’t felt like a barb when it had dripped from Yuuri’s lips though. It hadn’t sounded harsh to his ears. It had been whispered like a secret pulled from the depths of Yuuri’s heart, something precious and beautiful when it had been laid forth between them, their palms clasped tightly as Vitya had sung the hunter back from his fear.

Yuuri’s fear had been as barbed and brutal as Vitya’s memories felt, dark and growing things that had dragged against Vitya’s senses as he pulled Yuuri back from them.

It had all happened so quickly. Makka choking, Yuuri responding in seconds to the threat to Makka’s life and freeing her of the choking pit, and then Yuuri being pulled away from him, dragged deep by his fear. Vitya had acted on instinct, trying his best to bring Yuuri back from his nightmares and into the light again. He hadn’t thought about the vulnerability of his song, nor that Yuuri could possibly recognise it. He’d only done what he’d done a thousand times before when his mood had darkened or Makka had been scared by a thunderstorm, and sang.

It was his song, the song of his heart and soul that he sang only when things seemed at their most helpless. The last time he had sang it…

The last time he had sang was the last day. A day of pain and hurt when he'd sang from desperation and sadness. He'd sang to himself, alone and wandering as he cried.

How Yuuri could have recognised it was beyond him…

Memories and curiosities made him restless and he tossed and turned, ruminating on the mystery of Yuuri and the loss of his family. He gave up on the thought of sleep, throwing off his cover and considering his options. Makka was sleeping heavily, curled into the knot of the home tree she’d hollowed and claimed, padding it out with soft mosses for ultimate comfort. Vitya was alone, again.

He hummed the notes to himself, letting the familiar sound ground him for a moment, only to be interrupted by the shadow of a song in reply. It came up through the root of his home tree, welcoming and warm.

The Heart Tree was singing for him.

Vitya found himself on his feet and out of his home tree in seconds, his heart leaping in his chest, pounding so loudly he had to focus to try and hear the song over the beat of his pulse in his ears.

The bridges that spanned between his home tree and the Heart Tree were well walked, the route as familiar to him as the sound of his heart song. He hurried over the wound branches lightly, the crisscrossed tree limbs strong still, even as the forest around them receded into itself. The song was faint, but there as he sped toward the Heart Tree, still straining to catch the meaning of the song that had woken the Heart from its slumber.

The bridges do not connect to the Heart Tree, they span outward from the trees closest to the Heart and link every mature tree in the forest. Vitya has to dismount the closest tree and approach on shaky legs, made weak from the multitude of shocks throughout the day. He fumbles his landing, stumbling to the trunk of the Heart of the Nyéraldë and laying shaking fingers to her trunk.

“I’m here…” He doesn’t need to say it, she knows it as she knows all things in the forest, but the words comfort him in the sudden silence that had fallen the moment his feet had hit the ground.

The boughs above him sigh.

“Your song was beautiful, Nyéraldë.” Vityas fingers are warm against her bark and he hears the lilt of her song, a whisper on the wind again. It lasts a minute, maybe less, but it fills Vitya with such hope and love that he settles at her roots. He picks up the strains of the song, singing the sound of the love he bears for his forest, for his home, alone in the darkening of the spring.

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