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She appeared like a faun, a female satyr—goat-legged, horned, with a humanoid upper body. Only, this was different: skin above dark green, body below made of tree-bark and roots, chestnut brown, covered in mossy fuzz and a few mushrooms. Hooves below, thick, tough—like stone. She was still a sapling; young, finally able to move and interact, but—

  She was Jacinta. The last thing she recalled was being with that damn SEE member in the diner…where was she? What was she?

  The girl winced, hissed—pushed herself upright, digging the heels of her palm into her skull. Jet lag stretched beyond the span of days, weeks, maybe months, it felt like; she imagined herself underwater, the world suspended, slow. She looked up, around, realizing that she was in something that looked like a…garden? The dirt beneath her was soft, wet; around her, other…creatures lay, sleeping, some children, some teenagers—well, saplings; their bodies somewhat echoed humanoid ones, sure, but they…weren’t human. Or anything she’d ever seen before. Jacinta’s eyes were wide. She reached down, pinched the inner section of her arm, trying to discern this from a dream—

  Before realizing that she had three arms. Two on her left side. Beneath her primary arm on her right side was a nub, like a branch that was extending out of her. It would grow into her fourth arm when she was grown; that knowledge bubbled to mind.

  Somehow.

  Her torso was extended, stretched; her body taller and slimmer than even a lanky human’s. She felt her face—a something similar to a shaped panel, thick and smooth, like a plane of shaved wood, was affixed along her face. Her nose was wet, triangular, like a deer’s; two grooves rose out from it to stretch into eyes that were like half-moons, flat along the bottom, it seemed. When she stared at the others, their eyes were all silver, full of spindles. Two long, pointed ears, and two or more antlers. Hers were short, with leaves sprouting from the wood. Others had broader shoulders, more grown bodies—pollen: male or masculine creatures. Others of different types had a mix of both; others with neither at all; their species’ biology wasn’t entirely binary, depending on the tree. But she somehow…knew this. How? What?

  Information was a haze. She glanced up. Clear blue sky, two suns. Down. Back. Around. No, no, no—she tried to reach for her wand, but realized her bag was missing. Her Atlas? She reached up, trying to feel it on her ear—

  No. Not there.

  Shit.

  “Agent?” She called out, moving to stand. Her knees wobbled, and she staggered like a baby deer that was on new legs. Her hands extended, steadied her—

  “You are awake!” A cheery voice called. Jacinta jumped. The voice didn't call in English; the language was whistles, clicks, guttural noises—but she…she understood. Jacinta spun around, covering her chest with her arms, though she didn’t exactly have a chest like a human’s. It was a concave clavicle, divot around her neck, and a design along her many rounded ribs, green fur patterned and darkened around each bone. The concentric rings extended and slimmed into her wooden lower body.

  “Where am I? How—” she froze. Opened her mouth, closed it. She was speaking in their language, but—

  “I understand that you are confused, sapling. As you absorb the light of our suns, you will understand our collective history. You will be…” The woman reached up, feeling Jacinta’s horns, tugging on them. Jacinta winced and tried to buck her—the woman only laughed and side-stepped her easily before grabbing her antlers once more, this time forcibly.

  “Your name will be Oeideaarencressaeli.”

  Jacinta ducked her head, pawing at the ground with one of her hooves. “Look, I’m—not…that name. I’m Jacinta, okay?” Her name was different in this new tongue, but…it was still hers. Still Jacinta. Or this tongue’s translation or approximation of it.

  The woman’s eyes widened. She paused, setting a hand on her chin, debating. “I…suppose you can take your own name. How strange; we all wake wanting the names chosen by the suns and by the garden-mothers… There was another who woke earlier; his name…”

  The agent? Jacinta’s expression brightened, eyes widening. Some of the leaves on her antlers swung, unfurled. “Yes! Tell me where he is, please.”

  “Ah…he…is in the village, in search of some device. Do you have moss in your head? You are quite a strange one, sapling…” She reached forward and tilted Jacinta’s head back. Her fingers were long, gnarled—each one like a branch that could bend and twist at certain joints. She peeled away; Jacinta took a step back, scowling. She was small here—taller than as she was when human, but compared to the garden-mother, she was half her size, with shorter and stubbier limbs than what she thought would already be too long.

  Jacinta looked up at the sun. Their species were the Arborem—an intelligent group that were deeply connected to the nature they lived within. There were no humans, no…modern technology; instead, they used nature to substitute, their own magic, and—

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  Her head pounded. She winced, stumbling, falling backwards. Part of her wanted to cry. A gush of emotions, a flood; she’d…regressed somewhat, mentally—back to being a teen, just blooming and—

  Her thoughts were folding like paper, re-dipped into silkscreen ink, recolored, changed, twisting and—

  No. Focus.

  She was Jacinta.

  The garden-mother extended a hand down, chuckling. Jacinta’s body was Crabapple tree-based; she had small leaves, bunches of them, small and green, clustering along her small antlers. Soon, she’d have flowers. Then fruit. For now, just leaves, the short roots. They opened, closed; anxiety? Hesitation? Her emotions weren’t translating through her mouth, not as much; her face-panel was stiff—instead, emotions above, in the skin around her eyes, the leaves. She exhaled, inhaled, grabbed the woman’s hand, and stood, unsteady.

  “You will walk easily with time.” She told Jacinta, pulling her hand away. Jacinta wobbled, scowling, but took a few steps towards her, then back. Instincts rose—comfort. No. Did she hug her? She wanted to. She—

  No. She wasn’t one of these…

  Arborem. That was the name of the species. Their world, Verdance. Massive forest island; the rest, seas, unknown. Their island was all they knew. They were a young species, yet full of ritual, of life, of secrets, of history—

  Focus. No. She needed to step forward, find the agent, get back home, finish work, watch the show with her sister. She had so much she needed to do. That was just the immediate. There was her grandmother, there was the portal, the agent, the jobs, the loot, Gregory’s repayment, taxes, work, work, work—

  She shook her head. No; she’d try and shudder off the anxieties of her old self, her old world. First, more important now: getting out of there.

  If she had the Atlas still in her ear, she’d ask it to make that into a main quest. For now, her bain would have to do.

  “I—I need to enter the village. Where…” She hissed after a pause, looking around. The colors were more vibrant, lush—of course the world was called Verdance. Rather, their world—their island. Verdance.

  Strange, how the words translated into ones she knew somewhat. Verdance—verdant? Was it even real? Was she real? Was anything real?

  She blinked, pinched herself again. The skin wrinkled. There was a slight nub of pain.

  Still, she remained.

  The garden-mother was holding her hand, guiding her towards home, she realized. No, not home—the village. Or rather, the tree.

  It was giant—as tall as any skyscraper in the city, but thicker, with a wrapped trunk and veins that pulsed, systems of water and nutrients running throughout. Its canopy was large, each leaf the size of a…bed, perhaps—she stared up, jaw widening in awe. It shuddered from the wind, moving ever-so-slightly, as though it was alive. Mushrooms sprouted from the sides in parts, glowing in the shade. Thick roots were like the tendrils of a mangrove, tunnels upward, spun. Some Arborem scaled the sides using ropes and other systems, long limbs able to easily grab and climb. The tree remained mostly still.

  But it was alive, with a consciousness.

  While she’d rested, she’d grown with knowledge innate to their kind; the soil carried their histories. The tree was once a seed; it was the child of the suns, but it was lonely. It grew larger, larger; the sapling, then, asked for a friend. The suns gave birth to the first of the Arborem, then—and the Arborem and the tree grew together, symbiotically. And—

  One of Jacinta’s hooves sank in the dirt—she wobbled with a small, panicked bleat-like sound, before freezing and cupping her hands over her mouth, ears sinking. Her garden-mother laughed.

  “Why do live in the the tree, Jacinta?” She asked, waiting for her to be freed. Jacinta tugged, tugged, but finally managed, huffing, shaking off dirt from the upper parts of her hooves.

  “Because of the creation myth? I dunno. All I need—” she began, about to dismiss the question, the woman, before seeing another Arborem—a sapling, a boy—be dragged away by a garden-father to the back forests. The garden-father held multiple broken, wooden weapons. The boy bucked and snarled, trying to jab his antlers in, eyes frantic, wide—

  Wait.

  His eyes.

  “Stop!” She called, stepping forward, pulling out of the woman’s grip. She stumbled, nearly tripped, but managed to run in front of the two. “I…I’m Jacinta, I just woke up—”

  “Thank the suns.” The boy breathed, shaking his head. “I’m Silas, by the way, I can explain, but—”

  “Eeraexil, why are you using such force with this sapling? He just woke three sun-crosses ago!” Her garden-mother called to the garden-father. Jacinta looked up between the two of them before glaring at Silas, slapping him across the arm—hard.

  “What the fuck? Where are we? What is this place? Why are we here? Why are we…kids, teens, whatever? What the hell did you do…” she began, asking a barrage of questions; meanwhile, the garden-parents spoke.

  “—This strange sapling, no matter how early he woke, tried to break into our inorganic storage. And he stole these weapons! Just-born and he somehow knows how to fight? Mind explaining that, Aressiini?”

  “Perhaps a patch of soil has rotted…the latest new-wake, she too has a name she’s chosen. I will tell the others to…” Aressiini stated. Jacinta tried to listen, but not before she was rudely interrupted.

  Silas grabbed her hand first and started to run towards the tree, clearly much more adapted to the new form than she was. She stumbled, grabbing his shoulder with her other arm for support. “Hey!”

  Their long legs and even longer strides meant that they could travel far, fast. He spun to the side, into the forest, and kept going, pushing, running. They continued, tangle of forest and brush pulling them away from the clearing, the village, what she now considered home; Jacinta looked back, and the two garden-parents were still talking, not even realizing that they were gone. She faced back—and nearly rammed face-first into a tree. With a yelp, she yanked herself free from Silas, the force and hooves sliding along wet dirt—

  And rolled, rolled, rolled down a ravine—

  Right into a monster's den.

  A low growl thrummed from beneath the ground.

  Well, shit.