ORIGIN

The gentle rustling swelled in the air around them, every leaf dancing in an invisible wind, until the song had come to its end and began to fade. But perhaps there was an ego there somewhere behind the thick bark of the Divine, fed by the loving, curious words of the bat, who implored it to speak more. How long had it been since anyone had ever spoken to the Divine, had anyone ever regarded it with such zeal and innocent admiration? And so as the bat began to sang, the leaves continued their rustling, and the roots began to stretch and groan and creak in tune to the harmony of her disjointed lyrics.

If one looked hard enough, perhaps they could see the tree beginning to sway, ever so gently, ever so slightly, its branches bowing softly in tune.

She went off on a tirade of whimsical, wondrous words, and Ghanyarah wasn't sure exactly who she was speaking to. Him, he thought, as she hung over his brow and talked about being here for a while, but then she must have meant the tree, because she referred to him by name as though she was talking to someone else. The reptile flicked his tongue again and listened to the rustling, the sound of an exotic song soon harmonized by the bat's gentle words.

Even though her voice was nothing like the ethereal ballad of the tree, he closed his eyes and listened to it, enjoying it none the less. When she had finished, she seemed to doubt herself, trying to describe what it was she heard, or maybe the meaning of the words; he didn't recognize them, but he loved them all the same. The song left him afflated and swelling with pride for the childish fervor of his friend, who sang so confidently and without reservation, coaxing the tree to continue its song. He hadn't seen the tree moving, his mind fraught with visions of a world that the bat described. Floating clouds, breathing winds.

When she asked, he smiled and opened his eyes again. "Please sing again. I will try to sing along." He told her, though he didn't know the words, he would form them to the best of his ability.

As she sang, her fluttery, chime-like voice lifted up into the air and followed the harmony of the rustling leaves, which had fallen into the backdrop of an accentuating orchestra. Ghanyarah listened to the rise and fall of her voice, each word she spoke that was unfamiliar, unheard of. He couldn't possibly sing to perfection - the komodo hadn't ever really sang before, save for occasionally humming. He'd heard it though. He'd heard it from others, and from the bat, here, and he wanted to. It resonated with him the same way that drawing did. There was something about letting loose a thing that came from you, and you alone. Something that one created and released into the world. It felt special.

It began first as a low, rumbling hum that reverberated from his throat, following the cue of every word she spoke, lifting and falling with the song. Then he spoke the words, deeper than she, far deeper as if the song was coming from his very core. He repeated them only a second after she did, echoing them in latent baritone synchronicity. "Che voooo-lano, Pree-en du manitaa, In fomo ol'amimna." He repeated, lifting his eyes up to the tree as it swayed in tune to the song.

The bat hung over his eyebrow and she suddenly occupied the entirety of his one eye's vision, gleefully thanking him and explaining that it made her want to fly. Naturally. She had wings, and Ghanyarah imagined that a creature with wings could not deny the natural need to use them. The happiness she described spawned a similar one in him, that warm, bubbling feeling as she described wanting to lift up into the air and go higher and higher. "I know that one day you will fly." He said, and even if that day wasn't today, even if she was still too clumsy and unable to grasp the weight of the air, one day she would. He wasn't sure if it was confidence and pride that burned in his heart for her, or sadness, knowing that that day would come when she no longer needed him.

The tree began to slow; its swaying had long since halted, and the leaves stilled, as though the unexisting wind that ran through them faded away. Ghanyarah continued to hum, pulling forth the words of the song that she had sang before; slightly different, but he felt they emanated that feeling of freedom all the same. "Your flying words." He said, and relayed them back to her. "Nessa tanosia ah enodo russti, Lituusi vioni pash inosta. Lituusi vioni pash inosta."

The tree had stilled, the sound of its vegetative orchestra fading into the dull distant thrum of the living, breathing swamp. It regarded the bat's words, but it seemed to dwell on them, chewing them over in the strange and detached hivemind that lingered all around them, in the roots of every tree, gnashing in their stillness.

A moth fluttered past them. Its dusty white wings flapped delicately in the air, a winding trail that snaked up and up towards the tree until it came to rest on its dull, twisted bark. The moth sat and stretched its wings, flexing and resting them flat, slowly flapping them a few times before it fell unmoving. For a few long, silent minutes, it rested; its antennae twitched and felt for the texture of the bark, as though it was listening, and then it took off again. The moth flew above their heads, and though the reptile wouldn't be able to hear the fevered beating of its thin, paper wings, perhaps the bat could, speaking words in a thousand voices in the quivering cadence of stagnant air:

Lituusi viono pash inosta. Lituusi viono pash inosta. Viono. Inosta. Lituusi inosta. Pash viono inosta Lituusi. Lituusi. Lituus.

You have come here seeking something. The Divine has deemed you worthy.

Ghanyarah's lips lifted into a dim smile. She wanted to take him with her, and Ghanyarah admired her thoughtfulness, though he knew that it would be impossible for her to do so. Still, he liked to entertain the idea as if somehow it might still happen, but until then, he would encourage her to fly on her own. Even if it meant she would no longer have to ride on his back all the time. He felt her voice, and the tiniest of air currents as she flapped her wings, imploring the tree to speak with them again. Ghanyarah didn't know how successful she would be, as it seemed the tree had spent a good portion of energy already providing a song of nature.

He noticed the moth. His eyes followed the insect's flight path as it landed on the trunk and lingered, and he flicked his tongue, but couldn't catch any body heat from it - it was too far, perhaps too small. The reptile remained until the moth took off again and fluttered past them. He couldn't hear its wingbeats, and watched the moth disappear back into the trees. Had it been a sign? He was silent, waiting for the bat's report.

He could just barely begin to see her sinking down on his snout. The komodo focused his eyes in on her, but it was hard to focus his sights when the thing he was trying to see sat just between his eyes. She whispered something light and he strained to make sense of it, and he wasn't sure if it was for him or the tree, but Ghanyarah chose to think that it was for the tree - after all, it must have spent some kind of great energy to contact them the way it did. He knew that it was something he wouldn't forget any time soon. The reptile rumbled and backed up into the water again, relishing its cold ripples against his side, as she spoke of being tired.

"We will return to my tree and rest," he promised, hoisting his head just high enough that the water wouldn't threaten to wash the bat off his face. Her song remained lodged in his head, echoing among his thoughts, encouraging him. He would enjoy the nap after such an eventful day.