Hushed Willows It's a good life, that's what I'm told

It felt as if ages had passed him by since he’d first opened his eyes, and now there came another monumental moment within his life—the discovery of speech. Sounds were easy to make, but to turn them into something more than just a nuisance was entirely different. Ever since he’d heard his first sound, he’d been attracted to them, wanting to create for himself something just as beautiful as birdsong. Always had he practiced, babbling to himself whilst attempts at replicating things he’d previously heard were made. Yet, the problem with him having decided to act like a mockingbird was that there were only certain words that he could recall—two, to be more specific. Two words that he’d latched onto, two words that he’d been practicing. One was good, whilst the other was bad, but he could no better tell the difference than a fish could walk.

Out of the den and into the open had the boy wandered, plopping down with his back to the entrance. Overhead shone the sun down upon him, warming his small frame, only for the occasional gust of wind to slip by and send a shiver running down his spine. To the trees had he muttered, “Eros,” knowing the name to be his own. What it meant, he hadn’t the slightest of clues, but he understood enough to have realized that when someone spoke it, they wanted his attention. So, in a way, he’d unknowingly introduced himself to the willows; had he known, it wouldn’t have bothered him to greatly. The trees, though incapable of speech, probably cared for him more than his own mother, and so they were deserving of being made aware of who he was. Despite how deserving they were, the boy had still gone on to say, “Bad!” which was once again directed at the drooping trees. Of course, he didn’t know what the word meant. But, who knows, maybe the trees had secretly done something that made them deserve to be shouted at by some impish child.