30 multipurpose prompts. /   4. the tree is very old.

          they’ve been alone for nearly a month now. no companion from before their exile was brave enough to accompany them; no friend nor foe tracked their steps, no pet nor demon tagged at their ankles. no, nuniq alvethen was truly and deeply alone, in a manner which only the truly destitute could relate. trudging through the frostbacks in search of work had been the first challenge — now was the time to wander through the thick woodlands below, and forests are precisely the kind of place that nuniq has never familiarized themself with. a huff of breath erupts from chapped lips. a curse. a shake of the head. their short, stocky body stumbles towards a tree, boots caked thick with snow, hands dusted in white. 

           muttering beneath their breath, they tug at a glove, pull it from chilled hand with their teeth and shake it briskly, bringing it up in a fist to release hot gusts of breath against it. slowly, nuniq relaxes. hands settle into gloves again and they sigh, lean back slowly, breath leaving clouds in the air before them. it’s not so bad out anymore, they note. spring is coming. though lacking in personal experience, they’d read and heard quite much about surfacer’s weather changes. the merchants they passed explained more, and the carta dealers from below had told fascinating stories, long ago when nuniq still did not even know what color the sun was. yes, spring is coming, winter passing, the cold night will soon be over and the fields of earth will come alive. nuniq shuffles his feet. slowly rising, they press a hand to the bark for support, dark eyes reading the world around them —

           their gloves meet with grooves and dips in the surface of the wood. precise and intentional. they turn their gaze upwards, staring in awe at the previously unseen artwork. on the wood of the tree lies a carven depiction of the tree itself, interwoven with words in a language nuniq does not speak, drawn in a style nuniq has never seen before. it is beautiful, and she is breathless, awed and wide-eyed at this creation. they are honored to have witnessed it, and sink to one knee, fascinated fingertips running bare inches over the carven words. ‘gesterdag, brev bann ge dejt’, it reads, and nuniq’s academic heart yearns to understand.