The Beauty of a Dead Tree

It had been a week since Ch’Truta told Sister Locust of his latest vision of the three-headed dragon advancing upon the walled city setting it ablaze. As the leader of the horde, Ch’Truta recognized it was her decision to do what she chose concerning the information.

The army grew with each new day. He realized the difficulty of organizing such a vast war machine. Ch’Truta was reminded of the difficulties of getting the small band of warriors of his home in the great swamp of the Still Valley of one mind. Certainly, this was much more difficult. Ch’Truta did not envy her position.

There was only on greater army that Ch’Truta had witnessed. It was that joint the mounds of what His people called the dragon ants because of the fire in their bite. And, if enough bit a man, he died from the fire.

Now, he found himself wandering into the town at the recommendation of Sister Locust. He fondly repeated her actual name (Islana) in his mind. He recognized her as the leader of the horde. As his leader. However, the was something which Ch’Truta wasn’t able to reconcile.

Ch’Truta sat by the old stump. The movement within the stump caught his eyes. Soon, one-by-one, red and white butterflies fluttered from a hole in the stump. Focusing upon them brought his soul peace. This was a different place than his home, which contained the fire of poison, the waters of the swamp, and other poisonous entities. His home was a place of death. Life was only guaranteed by sacrificing to Uctilo'rhu. The spirits of the swamp taught Ch’Truta the ways to survive in the swamp.

Now, he meditated upon his current thoughts. Feelings, not from the spirits, not from logic, but from the heart. She is young!, Ch’Truta had been reminding himself. It seemed Islana, Sister Locust, had won more than Ch’Truta’s alliance. Feelings of this nature were unfamiliar to the shaman. The way she carried herself. Her wisdom was as if she were his elder. Would the spirits approve? There were the spirits of the swamp and the sisters within Sister Locust. Not only that, would Islana approve? She is young, Ch’Truta reminded himself once more.

Breaking out of his focus, the butterflies seemed to be doing a dance about his head. Ch’Truta smiled. In this barren place, something of beauty. Much like Sister Locust: On the barrenness of the coming war, such a mysterious beauty. He finally convinced himself to keep this to himself. She was young; she was his leader; she was Sister Locust.