The final fall, lake and meadow respectively. A gunshot, an act to eradicate forbidden love. Red mixes with nature, a gaping wound at the core. That’s how love dies, and devotion is forever born. Because nature takes, and nature gives. And tonight, nature weeps.

The rain is heavy on their bodies, now empty and pale. What was once golden rests on an underwater bed, the weeds cradling him and the pike fish standing guard by his side. The silver of moonlight reflects upon the silver body surrounded by forget me nots, lilies and deadly nightshades. The crown upon his head is a reflection from the nearby elk, majestic and esteemed.

Fall. The cradle now a tomb upon swollen limbs, the flowers now a cast on sunken cheeks. The forest droops, sinks further and further under the heavy weight of an approaching winter. The hunters leave them be, doesn’t visit what now is dead.

With a final breath, winter claims them.

Ice, snow, frost. Their bodies disappear, nature takes, and nature gives. What was once them is now hers, and what was once hers is now them. Their final resting places forgotten under the white white snow.

A clean slate.

Springing up, eyes open for the first time. Flowers rise with him, grow in the wake of his footsteps. His touch wakes trees, wakes rocks, wakes shrubbery. The inhabitants of his lands bow before him, greeting the one who died for pure love. The elk, white as the still lingering snow, bows his head, and he grabs the newly grown horns and takes his throne.

The forest is his, given by nature in exchange for his blood. His heart, his core, is still missing. It belongs to his lover. His back is hollow, like the bark of an old oak tree.

He searches.

A ripple, a sign of change. The lover also wakes. His movements send waves of change throughout the water, melting what is frozen, waking what is sleeping. His guards return, companions as he ascends. Splitting the ice, breaking the water free, he shines golden again.

His kingdom is vast, wherever the water reach so does he. Its inhabitants are loyal to the new flow, knowing what has been given by nature must not be taken away from the one who died for pure love. The water lily rests like a crown on his locks as he climbs his rock, searching for the one who can fill his hollow core.

A tale, of the creatures of the forest. They guard it, protect it from those who seek its riches. The hunters ask for blessings before firing the shots, they don’t hit. They sink their offerings in the lake, their hooks remain empty.

Don’t go alone, the spirits are vengeful

The first hunter drowns, lured to the water’s edge by the fat pikes resting nearby. Hands, blue, dead, grab. Seaweed, strong as rope, pull at limbs. Eyes, burning golden, stare at him. The water is red from the wound in the spirits chest, his core hollow as he kills the man who gutted him.

The second hunter is lost, wandering the forest as it warps around him. The white elk stands just out of sight as the man stumbles, desperate cries leaving him. The lover approaches, hooved feet walking steadily as the man scrambles backwards. Vines grab him, pulls him down down down until he’s resting next to the grave of pure love. The grass is red, the silver hands merciless as they tear at the guts, hollowing him out as they did him.

They continue to search. Empty chests, hollow backs. Lost eyes, golden ones seeking the moon, silver ones the sun. He finds lovers in the forest, escaping the eyes of the village and forget me nots bloom around their caresses. The other sees children swimming, their melodious laughter like his lover’ voice. The streams carry them safely to shore when their arms grow tired.

Summer brings life. He visits them all, wolf pups, hare leverets, newly hatched birds, spotted fawns. They decorate him with flowers, orange, glowing, like his lovers. In the hollow of his chest the motherless rest, protected.

The water brings growth, he watches them all. The water lilies create bridges he can walk, his dancing steps sending ripples throughout the water. The roe of the ever-guarding pikes lines his bed like gemstones, the tadpoles chase his feet. The lilies grow blue by the water droplets he kicks up, and he carries the prettiest on his back, protecting the hollowness.

The sun brings warmth, warmth brings thirst, and thirst brings unity.

The white elk parts the forest, horns large enough to cradle the world. The lover sits on his throne, his subjects following. In his footsteps the dried growth resurrects. The droplets on the blue water lilies makes the lake shine silver, reflected on the orange of his flowers he is golden.

The many footsteps send ripples. The pikemen stand alert, the lover ascends, the breaking of the thin film separating their worlds like night falls away to daybreak.

Their eyes meet.

A hand cradles another, hollow chests coming together, the meeting of sun and moon during a summer’s dawn. The lovers lock together, the water lilies growing orange as the forest is bathed in a blue summer’s rain.

The villagers rejoice, not knowing that they were the ones who caused the draught to begin with.

Side by side, hands never parting, they sleep. One in the water, the other on land. Silent stories pass between them. Their kingdoms flourish. Golden freckles bloom on the silver skin, silver hair framing the golden skin. They’re one. Again.

Fall sets their love ablaze. An orange forest, reflected in the surface of the water. Frequent rains have made the harvest plentiful. A pair of hands cradles a face. Kisses pressed into the now disappearing freckles. Promises shared. Hands part silver hair. The hollowness is filled. Inside pure love lives.

They tangle like vines, flow into each other like water sinks into the earth. Their roots, tied, strain against the hold. Lovers torn asunder by hunters, healed by nature. The white elk stands watch still, the pike guarding. No one enters their domain. No one is worthy. Together they continue to bloom, while their kingdom slowly dies around them.

Winter comes slowly.

Mornings come later, nights earlier. Leaves coat the ground, thick, heavy. The water stills, lilies retreating. Hiding away, the subjects become fewer, and fewer. Orange and blues vibrancy lost, surrender to white. A blank sheet.

A girl tells a story of a white elk by the edge of the lake, stomping at the frozen water. She thinks she saw a spirit, ember tears flowing like lava from its cheeks and onto the ice. It melts but only for a second. In that second, she saw clear blue, like the colour of forget me nots, rising from the water.

The cold grabs hold of them, pulls them back. Cries fall on deaf ears. Pleas echo throughout their frozen kingdoms. Scrambling, struggling, bleeding. Crimson stains their path, like a thread connecting them. In its trail lies their memories, torn from their backs and scooped out of their chests. Another sacrifice made. Pure love returns to its final resting place.

Nature gives, and nature takes, and come spring, she’ll be merciful again

My grandmother always told me, about the two lovers who protect this forest. Legend says they were two princes of rivalling kingdoms who fell in love, and that they were shot to death. But because mother nature saw how pure their love was, she allowed them a second chance. Every spring they wake up and their love reviews their forest, but every winter they die, and the forest dies with them.

My grandmother told me about the white elk that belongs to the silver prince and the giant pike that belongs to the golden prince. She told me they protect those who are lost, and punish those who are cruel. She told me if you ever saw one of them, you have to show them respect, for they made the ultimate sacrifice and gave their hearts away.

I didn’t believe her, until the summer I fell in the lake while fishing. At the bottom, I saw the golden prince, guarded by his pikemen. He carried me back to the surface, my hair, and let me go. His back was hollow as he dove back into the sea of blue water lilies.

I spent the rest of the summer, looking for the other prince. I found him in a meadow, surrounded by forget me nots, lilies and deadly nightshade. The white elk watched me as I thanked him.

I dug a ditch, created a stream that connected their two streams. From then on, the ever-blue water lilies bloomed orange, and the orange forget me nots turned blue. From then on, I never got lost again, guided by pure love and the sacrifice made.

That summer
Two corpses I saw
Who lay there for years
To freeze and to thaw
For so long they became the flowers