The Arbor

In the home of Arbor, the mysteries of metal and stone are unknown to the inhabitants, and the world is not as our own. They only know the stories of wind, and mist, and garden, not the stories of desert, and fire, and ice. Though this does not mean they know not war or strife, they certainly also know of sailing among the branches and leaves, of herding their livestock, and know even more of the nature of things. They know the journeys of the leaves and the lights, the flight of men and creature, the climbing of trees, the way of the garden, and the seed of the soul itself. The have their own names and their own songs, some similar to our own, and some far different, yet all seem familiar to those who walk within the garden.   It began as all things do, as a tiny little seed, in an endless floating ocean of beauty, guided by the heart of the First One. At once, it was given the first drip, and a bit of breath, and sprang out into a sapling. With every ray of light, it gained a new branch, and leaves to match. It grew, and grew, and grew, and blossomed with the light that it loved. It grew a seed, nestled in it's heart, nearly ready to sow. And the breath came again, and the seed fell to the tree's bosom, among the dust of the light the tree had gathered for so long. The seed itself was not the tree, but it was like the tree, smaller, delicate, a fraction of the beauty of the many-threaded tree. It grew up into a beautifully terraced rose, the home of a King. And the fragrance was like that of the stars, and the blossoms like those of the clouds of precious stones and air and life. And yet, the rose itself knew knew little beauty, for it could not yet see the fastness of the oak, nor the light's beauty, for then it was too intense, nor it's own beauty. And the breath came a third time, and from the rose it carried a bud. The bud landed beside the rose, and when it grew up, it grew another, more beautiful than the first, and they grew intertwined together. Long did they rest in the other's embrace, so long that something new was made within their buds.   The first people...   And they found the whole tree open to them, with all it's fruit, and animals, and beauty, and wonders. And they were happy as they busied themselves with the tree's harvest and growth, and they learned many things about the way of the tree, and the way of the rose. They dwelt in the branches and the leaves, and drank in the beauty of the light. They longed to dwell with the light, to become light itself, and they built for themselves rafts of leaves to join the light behind the curtain of smoke, but the wind tried to prevent them, because they could not make the journey without becoming lost to the stars. Many were, and those who returned brought the smoke with them, which fed off them like a vile creature. Its stole their life, and the tree, the roses within, were closed off from them because of their new hunger. A hunger for light, a devouring thirst for beauty, a lust for the pool of light, and the roses which sailed upon that blessed lake. The tree lost it's leaves for the first time, and the people scrounged in the roots of the tree for what they could graciously find. And the tree would show it's beauty once more, and return it's people to their home within it, but also grant them their desire to become light.   This is our story, and this is their story. Of light and smoke, of beauty and grace, of brambles and thorns, and of blossoms and leaves.