To Eirean

[TennyoCeres84]

What was the process like in "giving birth" to Sophia? How would you describe your relationship with her over the years?

[IamLEAM1983]

"Honestly, you could ask any horticulturist. The difference is that caring for the sapling form of a future dryad is different; far more demanding than simply watering the tree at regular intervals. The gestures are the same, ostensibly. I'd trim and water, clean the soil and replant her whenever she told me, in her own unborn way, that her roots needed to expand further. Everything you do, however, has to be laced with your faith in the power of the World Tree, faith in the dryad that's slumbering at the core of what could have been any old oak, honestly. The genius of Yggdrasil is that it doesn't consistently father dryads - so many of Europe's trees descend from it on a minute genetic level, it's practically unheard of! Being a Fae, however, I had assurances. We keep a stock of clearly identified seeds, infant dryads waiting only fertile ground and a bit of love to sprout forth.

Growing dryads are like children, too. Their host trees hunger, far more than you'd expect out of a common form of flora. Old legends say that if you want to create a stalwart friend and companion, the tree needs to know laughter and song before the dryad is born. If you desire an enemy, then maim the tree with your own hands. If you want a monster - shed your own blood at the tree's roots. Unborn dryads need to hear, feel and experience as much as an unborn mortal child. I remember finding all sorts of alibis every year, any reason to host some sort of ceremony in Centennial Park: Presidents' Day, Independence Day, Saint Patrick's Day, the city's first centennial inauguration party... I did everything I could to expose Sophia to every facet of waking life in Hope, before and after she emerged from the tree.

Once she started pushing outwards, I had to be careful. Some dryads can take entire lifetimes to physically part from their tree - Sophia was fairly quick on her feet, in this respect. In two years, she'd gone from a pair of furtive eyes poking outwards from the old bark to a face, then a head, a bust - so on, until she was completely free.

One advantage dryads have is of being cognitively adult as of the moment of their physical emergence. Her first independent steps were a bit on the awkward side and her motor skills took a day or two to sharpen themselves, but she had no trouble whatsoever speaking to others.

I still remember her first fountain pen, however. She'd just received her first dress and had just managed to sign her name using one of the school's pencils. Just scrawling Sophia on the paper repeatedly had exhausted her - but she'd narrowed down her signature and her handwriting in one day. Fountain pens? Not so much...

The poor girl was mortified about her dress: brand new, and ruined with ink! I remember helping her into bed with some herbal tea soon afterwards, afraid she'd launch a personal vendetta against all forms of office supplies... Not that she did, but it'd be a few years before she'd trust the things well enough to sign documents quickly. She'd take her time, trace all the letters, avoid any spills whatsoever...

Today, I think she's something of my professionally estranged daughter. I say professionally because I still hold her very near and dear to my heart. What I'm referring to is the fact that our later paths haven't crossed often. We live in the same city and speak to the same people - but she isn't Eirean McHale's dryad anymore. She's Sophia - entirely her own person. I don't have much of a part to play in regards as to who she is today, and I'm glad things are the way they are. It doesn't feel right for a Fae to dote over a nature spirit...

That said - people tend to be surprised when I mention I have quite a bit of fondness for Jack Greene. I should; I planted him! I'd undo every century of abuse he's suffered if I could, but no Oath of mine could possibly reliably unmake this damage. I could blind him to his old pains, maybe alleviate his temper by removing unpleasant chapters from his memory - but that'd be a disservice to do to him. I'm happy enough knowing that underneath the scowl and the contempt for us city folk, he knows he can come to Sophia or myself for assistance at any moment, day or night.

I haven't brought up our mossy little mountain goat to keep her doors closed to people in need."