We, The Watchers

It was in the time of the leaf-fall that they came. Advancing out of the mist, shadow-shapes, promising neither compassion nor mercy. Only death. This was all they knew, and it was all they would ever know. Barbarians, they were, and they knew it. Were proud of it, even. They cared not for civility or a peaceful life.



They called themselves the Sird-Gahen, the death-bringers. In the autumn, they advanced across the country, their legacy spreading faster than they did. For yes, we knew they were coming, but we did nothing. We could not.  They came from a land beyond the sea, behind the horizon. That line between air and sea had hidden them, but they had come, surrounding our coastlines. People did not make boats, and for that I was glad. It would have been useless, in any case, with the coastlines guarded.



We knew, my comrades and I, as we watched them advance, that those with sense had run to the caves. Some sense, anyway. A show of cowardice, just for a few extra hours of life? We didn’t see the point in that, and anyway, we couldn’t have run even if we wanted to. We were rooted to the ground.



One broke from our line. A small boy. We watched him go, but he did not run to the caves like the others had done. No – he ran towards the Sird-Gahen, the foreigners, our executioners. He was killed, easily, without thought. All we did was watch. All we could do was watch him run straight at their line, yelling words we did not know. Ours had always been the language of the body. The way you swayed, the way you turned towards the sun. The way your leaves fell to the ground and became what would nourish you.



More broke from the line, until the entire group ran at the attackers. More words. They, too, were cut down. Still the line advanced. They went right past us without a glance as we stood there and did nothing. We were, to them, inconsequential, and we wanted them to believe this. All we did was watch.



This has always been the way of the trees.