_"If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"_

...

Governess Pemola, the Witch belonging to El Rosa Peak, had grown to hate humans almost as much as the trees did.

She hated humans' snide manner of speech, the arrogant drawls of men making claim to her forests.

She hated their violent steps, crashing through plots of mud, uprooting ecosystems if only for their own rogueish enjoyment.

But most of all, she hated their human _greed. _

Day after day, she watched ingrates flounce across her greenery like bad toddlers.

Predatory human hands crushed fruit til it bled, stole away doe-eyed fawn from their mothers, and shredded bark if only to rest their feet atop the carnage.

How many men had lit fire to her woods for such trifles as warmth?

How many had brought their wars to her gardens, only thoughtful to spare their human realms the clutter of a slaughter?

How many humans had torn foliage from its roots, to wither in the sun, as a lovestruck gift to their promised?

And how should they react, the Witch wondered, if she were to pry each finger from their human palms as a gift to her own cherished forest?

_"She loves me, She loves me not...."_

_"He loves me! He loves me not..."_

It was unacceptable...and she was sure that if it went on any longer, the natural world would perish from those humans' unforgivable negligence.

Thus, to correct this matter, Governess Pemola brought forth a plan in council with the eldest trees of El Rosa.

"But humans are hedonists." A tree rumbled.

"How could we possibly best them at their own craft? Wrath and war _excite them_."

Another tree interjected,

"Perhaps we need to turn them against their kin? What if we trick them into destroying each other...then there'd be no humans left to disturb us anyway."

The Witch sighed,

"Willow knows the human have already done that to themselves for centuries. Killing their own and everyone around them is like sport to them. We have to be mindful of the balance."

The trees rumbled in agreement.

"So, what can we do, Governess? This disregard can't go on. It's _us_ or _them_!"

As the trees grumbled, like rainfall, a child tumbled into the forest.

He was perhaps, to the human realm, a man -- wide shouldered and a strong, hard-working frame.

And it was evident that he must be one of importance. A shawl woven from Tasar silkworms, a tunic of zayton and velvet, foreign fabrics flowed from his body in luxurious waves.

Then, adorning his human skull, a crown rich with gemstones El Roda had only ever dreamt of.

The forest, though playing coy at first, oogled each sumptuous crystal of Ruby and Taafeite, Benitoite and Black Opal.

As the human's chin tilted towards the treetops, a pitiful voice cried out to no one,

"Marriage? Ha! I refuse it, father...Is it really so dishonorable to desire freedom?"

His hands quivered as he fell to his knees, shawl wet with mud and clay -- the very earth from which his riches were forged.

The trees erupted.

"Is that El Rosa's Crown Prince in _our_ forest?"

"The King's First Born?"

"Isn't he too sappy to run a kingdom?"

"_Sappy_? Aren't you a Maple tree?"

"Should we make an _example_ of this human?"

"Quiet!" The Witch interjected.

"I've thought of a plan...and I've **just the spell.**"

And so, as the Crown Prince laid his head upon the tallest, thickest trunk, a dye was cast.

The trees, with their rumbling whispers, lulled the human into a comfortable slumber. When she was sure of the Prince's sleep, Governess Pemola quickly gathered her ingredients.

"A plan?" The eldest trees asked.

Pemola nodded before lowering herself to the expanse of soil.

A young oak seed, bright and thoughtful, was met with the witch's lullaby,

"Heir to the trees, do as you _desire_. I'll bestow you with _life, _should you promise me _fire_. _Seduce_ him. _Uproot_ him. The trees sing your chorus. And we'll use what remains _here_, to nourish our forest. Can I ask this of you?"

The seed whirred a pleasant agreeance.

"You're sure?"

But the seed proved confident.

And, with the flesh of forged bloodroot, toad liver, and oak, Governess Pemola casted a spell -- one to turn the sproutling into a beautiful young woman.

"The **_human heart_**.._._" the witch replied simply to the elder trees,

"is _the largest and softest place to strike._"

The plan wasn't full-proof, but Governess Pemola was confident.

She could tell that the seed had understood her (after all, who knows better of human atrocity than the trees?), and so she bestowed it with body and the name, _Grunella_.

Grunella had sensed Governess Pemola's crave for retribution, skin for bark. A body for a body. An eye for an eye. As a seed, such a feeling had comprised her entire existence.

But, while the transformation hadn't erased the anger, her thoughts began to shift.

Now, the voice of Governess Pemola appeared to her in a mosaic, a spectrum of colors and smells and nerve-endings to light her senses ablaze.

Cold feet against soft earth. A blend of buzzing and pitter-pattering, the symphony of the forest. The sea salt of the winding riverbeds.

Soft human hands outstretched before Grunella in a manner she likened to branches.

And as the seed blinked through her new view of the forest that raised her, the crowned Prince's slumbering figure stole away her attention.

Grunella wondered if all humans seemed so peaceful as they slept or perhaps, it was just a clever deception.

As she knelt to her older sister, of whom the Prince reclined upon, Grunella brought a muddy hand to the human's face. Her intentions had been to hold his head steady, all the better to examine him up close. But as Grunella leaned in, her thumb reflexively swiped clay across the Prince's soft cheeks, and her captive flickered awake.

Convinced he must still be dreaming, the Prince's lips whispered the words,

"_A goddess!_"

And twisted roots stretched behind the pair, forming into something like a chair (Pemola was knowledgeable to how incredibly sedentary humans could be), catching Grunella as she stumbled back in surprise.

And the trees, who observed like protective parents, turned to the Witch.

"This," said Governess Pemola, "Is what _humans_ call **a date**."

...

At first, the Prince and Grunella were like children.

After making her acquaintance, the Crown Prince found himself with mouth endlessly agape.

She was a wonder to him.

The two dowdled awkwardly amongst the trees, the Prince and the Seed, watching carefully, double-taking as if to confirm the other were real.

To the Crown Prince, Grunella was something like an eighth world wonder, flipping the universe as he knew it out from beneath his feet.

"Why do you walk like that?" The Prince would ask.

"Shouldn't a lady wear shoes? Are you without shelter?"

"You're too presumptuous, Prince. The metal heels of your boots muddy the natural trails."

And, just as she had declared, the Prince looked to find that he'd mistakenly trampled countless beds of newborn bloodroot.

"I'm learning that now, thanks to you."

Betwitched into submission, the Prince carefully removed his boots, setting them to the side. He then reached through the mud to tuck a toppled wildflower behind Grunella's ear.

"What's this for?"

"A flower for a _flower_. A gift. Don't women like these kinds of things?"

Grunella, the Seed, touched the flower softly before cradling it in her hands, and placing it softly back in the soil.

"But how can something that's not yours be a _gift_? All foliage belongs to the earth."

Grunella looked up at the Prince doubtfully,

"When you are someone's guest, don't you know to respect their home?"

Swiftly, and unfazed, the Prince unlatched his bejeweled shawl and offered it to Grunella.

"A gift for all your teachings, _Grunella_."

"He's surpringly tender..." a tree had complained.

"Don't they look more like lovers than enemies? Can we truly trust her to _dispose_ of him? She's still young. Young ones are easily charmed."

"Give her time..." Pemola warned, a slight of hand.

"Things are coming along nicely."

In only their first meeting, Grunella and the Prince stayed up for hours, whispering and giggling to each other until moonlit stars came streaming through the treetop canopy. They spoke of everything, from their favorite time of day, to the their love of big families, to the things that make their hearts clench.

When the clicking of horses, decidedly the Royal Army's search party, began to paw through the forest, the trees carried the sounds along the winds, bringing the warning to where the Prince and Grunella sat nestled against a tree.

At the behest of Governess Pemola, they then used the shadows of the forest floor to temporarily slow the brigade, a barrier to buy the children time.

"Grunella, I fear my father is looking for me. It will be more trouble than its worth if he sees you. But can't I escort you back to your own kigdom?"

"I think...My kingdom is _duty_ itself."

"Pardon?"

At this, Grunella was quiet for a moment.

Her head turned up, and though the Prince wasn't aware, the trees realized, for the first time, that the Seed may feel burdened by their incredible ask of her.

The prince hovered a jeweled hand near Grunella's in the soil.

"May I?"

She nodded.

"Grunella, I am _betrothed_ from birth. I should've told you this from the start...but my duty is marrying a woman that I do not love. My duty is to give her children that will be tied by the same responsibility I've always despised. My duty is as successor to the throne. That has _always_ been my path...and yet."

He wrapped his fingers through Grunella's own.

"Why do I find myself wanting nothing more than to run away with you?"

And when Grunella's eyes widened, with what the Witch recognized as excitement and not surprise, the entire forest went quiet.

Because, though the trees were unconvinced and protective of their youngest, Grunella willed it. And because they seemed to owe her that, the trees willed it.

And so, of our own volition, Grunella said,

"I would love that."

And when Pemola and the Prince returned to El Rosa Peak many years later, matured and in love and with child, the King had passed and his true successor now held the power to define his _own_ birthright.

And the queen of the human realm was now, miraculously, a Seed -- one that had blossomed into a beautiful and good-natured woman who spoke for the trees.

And all their children, and those to come, now held a piece, though small, of the forest.

So...

_If a tree falls in love in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it even make a sound?_

__

Well, at first, it's quiet.

An insignificant seed latent in soil.

But then it rolls with laughter,

a witch's snicker,

and the rumble of the trees...

then, it roars so loudly that the earth bows on its very axis.