The canopy was thick in the forest of Gnul. Ancient trees with trunks too wide for a dozen men to reach around climbed to the sapphire sky and let their branches creep across the horizon. Somewhere in that forest, a small village was nestled.

Homes were built out of leaves and fallen branches, with layers of dirt packed in to add stability. Many people with earthy skin tones walked around carrying baskets, nets, clay pots, and other tools for daily use.

Near the back of the village was a particularly large tree that had naturally hollowed out due to a disease. The ancestor Druids built this village. They found that hollow tree and nursed it back to health. Now, the leader of the village lived inside of it.

The leader was an old man. Although he looked only fifty, he was closer to five-hundred years-old. His skin was dark and his hair was white. Despite his station, his clothes weren't any more outstanding than what the other villagers wore. He dressed in simple furs and decorated himself with feathers and wooden ornaments. Grass sandals kept his feet separated from the ground.

Before the old man, Adl'gar was his name, sat five children, all with tan skin and brown eyes. They sat cross-legged with bored and impatient looks on their faces. Adl'gar stroked his smooth chin ponderously.

"It would seem our little T'faide isn't coming today," he muttered.

One of the five children present shot his hand high up into the air. "Teacher, can we start already? Some of us have chores to do."

The Archdruid smiled and nodded his head. "Well said, Roth'm, we can begin. Thank you all for waiting. It was very patient."

Patience was a good trait for a Druid, so all the young apprentices noticeably brightened on hearing their teacher's compliment. They began their training by meditating to hear the voices of nature.

Adl'gar monitored them all and guided the ones who were having trouble. For the rest, he pointed out the things they had done well and what they could still improve on. Roth'm was the oldest apprentice, and so he was allowed to stop meditating halfway and practice simple spells.

He had recently gotten very good at predicting the weather, and now he was practicing the simple manipulation of plants. Roth'm was a hot-blooded child by nature, but he knew from Adl'gar's teachings that wisdom was strength for a Druid. For example, an old man like him who had trouble hauling fruit could connect his mind to his wooden walking stick and split a large stone just by swinging it lightly. By training his patience, he became stronger.

But it did make Roth'm's blood boil that there was actually someone who would skip out on training.

The dying plant Roth'm was attempting to revitalize bent its stem again, and Adl'gar came over to check on him.

"Is something on your mind, Roth'm?" the old man inquired.

"I was just wondering what T'faide is doing," he grumbled.

Adl'gar chuckled, "As am I. After today's lessons are done, I'll be going to see what kept him."

In some secret part of his heart, Roth'm hoped T'faide would get scolded by their teacher. That kid didn't know what it meant to be a Druid, and he didn't have any respect for the craft. The blood of the elves was wasted on him. How much better it would have been if Roth'm were the one born with that kind of raw magical talent.

***

Near the Druid village, there was a brook where many creatures gathered. The brook was not large, and so the gathering creatures were not large, but there was still quite a diverse volume to look at. Little fish swam against the current, hopping up to eat insects that landed on the water's surface. Occasionally, a bird would swoop down from a nearby tree and snatch a fish up in its beak. There were also agile insects, built to skate around on the surface of the water, and they were very good at avoiding the fish. Occasionally a fox would interrupt the ecosystem, or a family of possums would skitter by.

A brown-skinned boy sat in the grass, writing little notes about what he saw on the back of a smooth piece of bark. The ink he used was a mixture of soot and berry juice, and his pen was only a simple carved stick. He had lost several pieces of bark in the past to cooking fires or general wear and tear, but writing things down helped him remember, and so he made a habit of it.

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Hidden in his room, there was a rolled-up animal skin that he had obtained on the pretext of mending his clothing. His most precious knowledge was transcribed there after he returned home with his daily notes.

This boy was none other than T'faide, who was skipping out on his Druid training at that very moment.

To an outsider, a mundane human who knew little about the ways of Druids, T'faide might look like a model specimen. After all, he was out in nature, observing the wildlife. But T'faide was not a good Druid. To a Druid, the most important thing was their connection with nature. This was built up by meditating and listening to the subtle voices in all living things. T'faide didn't care about those voices. He had thought, since a long time ago, that there was a disconnect between what they said and what was true. For example, the fish that said it was the best hunter, only to be eaten by a bird right after; or the fledgling bird that insisted it would never fly.

Druids were people who connected with the natural world; a common friend to every living thing. The elements of nature themselves weren't particularly aware of each other, so a Druid had to spread their attention broad and deep, or else it was easy to gather false conclusions.

Rather than listen to thousands of differing opinions and try to sort through them, T'faide preferred watching the result unfold before his eyes. He found patterns that way that were more reliable than the chittering of birds and leaves.

As he got caught up observing the riverbed, time passed around him. Soon, the boy heard footsteps approaching from behind. T'faide looked over his shoulder and saw the town's Archdruid, his teacher, Adl'gar approaching. He jotted down a quick note on his piece of bark.

The old man smiled awkwardly, seeing that he still wasn't his apprentice's first priority even when he was standing in view. He sighed lightly and walked until he was within conversation range of the child.

"You weren't there for your lesson this morning," the elder stated. "Did you lose track of time?"

The brook-side was a pretty place in the forest. With T'faide sitting there, it seemed even more tranquil. Their Druid village was a settlement of humans, but living closely with nature sometimes led to them interacting with elves. There were three or four half-elves that were born to the village, and T'faide was one of them. His tan skin was very soft and evenly-colored, and his hair and eyes were lighter than the typical dark brown shared by the human villagers--somewhere between that and the usual elven gold. His ears stuck out slightly from the sides of his head, and they tapered off to gentle points. The image of a pretty, erudite looking child in such a rich natural setting would easily put most people at ease.

"No, teacher. I didn't go on purpose."

Adl'gar, who had been feeling rather tranquil, couldn't help but frown a bit.

T'faide continued, showing his notes to his teacher and looking not the least bit guilty.

"I don't have to meditate to know what a bird or a fish is going to do. They only live following their simple, basic needs. They lie sometimes when I listen to them, just how people say one thing and do something else. I can understand better what to expect just from watching them for a while."

The old Druid took a deep breath and leaned his weight on his tall walking stick. "Hearing the voices of nature is only the first step. Once your connection is stronger, you could use magic to perform great feats of protection and healing."

T'faide pursed his lips and was quiet for a moment. "Teacher, when you save a dying creature, isn't that against the laws of nature?"

Seeing his apprentice take a bit of interest in their craft, Adl'gar smiled. "No, because the magic that we Druids use comes from nature itself."

"So, doesn't that mean that it was always possible for dying creatures to become healthy again overnight? Why don't they ever heal themselves? Why does it never happen without a Druid's help?"

It was an advanced question, but Adl'gar was an Archdruid who wouldn't be stumped by something younger men found complicated.

"Druids themselves are part of nature as well," he said sagely. "Everything in nature has its role, and Druids have the role of connecting the many plants and animals together. Healing is nothing but a transfer of energy from one being to another. A sick creature cannot heal itself without outside energy, and only a Druid can connect them to a fresh source."

The child nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. "However, teacher, can't you just provide the energy physically?"

The boy fished at his side and picked up a small potted plant. Adl'gar recognized it as one of the training plants for the apprentices to practice healing on. It was standing up, straight and green.

"I mixed some compost with magic and added it into the soil. It worked right away."

Adl'gar stroked his smooth chin. Something about the magic infused with the plant felt strange, but the results were very good. He had to acknowledge the talent of this child. If only his attitude would improve a bit, he could quickly become the most gifted of the apprentices. "That's a good method you've discovered," he smiled, "but you should still learn proper Druidcraft for times when you don't have extra compost on hand."

"But doesn't this mean it's possible to make nature do what you want even without having a connection to it?"

"You can make small changes," the Archdruid said carefully, "but you cannot do powerful magic that way. What you're pursuing is naturalism. It is a noble and admirable field of study, but it isn't true magic."

The child was silent for a while, and Adl'gar smiled softly. "Come to tomorrow's lesson, won't you?"

He nodded quietly, and the Archdruid walked away satisfied.