About four hours later the mood on deck had gone from celebration back to plain boredom.
Land was out there but it was taking its sweet time getting closer as they didn’t wanna waste any wind charges.
The ships crawled along.
Men sat on barrels.
Men leaned on rails.
Men counted the boards under their feet because there was nothing else left to count.
Then somebody snapped.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING SO LONG? LOWER THE ANCHOR!”
The shout came from the bow.
A skinny sailor with a red face was leaning over the rail, pointing at the hazy green smear on the horizon like it had personally offended his mother.
From the helm another voice answered.
“Aight, fuck off, I’m doing that right now!”
Buck V Henderson heard the word anchor from inside his cabin.
His head snapped up.
His bloodshot eyes went wide.
Anchor.
That meant they were stopping.
That meant they were here.
That meant the nightmare was finally over.
He burst out of his cabin like a man being chased.
He ran up the stairs to the deck, nearly ate shit twice on the way, and skidded to a halt at the railing.
His hands gripped the wood.
His heart was pounding.
There it was.
Land.
A dark green smear against the horizon, close enough now that he could make out individual trees and the curve of a beach and the white line of surf breaking against the shore.
A little over two miles out.
Buck threw his head back and screamed.
“YES! YES! YES YES YES YES YES!”
The crew stared at him.
He did not care.
He was going to touch land.
Real land.
Dirt that did not move.
Ground that did not rock.
He was going to get off this goddamn boat and never set foot on another one for the rest of his life.
“LAND!” he shouted, pointing with a shaking finger.
“THAT IS LAND! WE MADE IT!”
The anchor chain rumbled out.
The ship slowed.
Buck stood at the railing with actual tears running down his face, watching the shore get closer inch by agonizing inch.
Two miles.
Two little miles and then his feet were going to touch solid ground.
He could already feel it.
Gen was sitting cross legged in the clearing with his back against a tree at the outter edges of his clearing, trying to get a tree to say his name.
“Gen,” he said slowly.
“Guh. En. Gen.”
The aspen dryad crouched in front of him.
Her pale face was blank.
Her red eyes were fixed on his mouth.
Her long fingers were folded in her lap.
She had been like this for the past five hours, a statue that occasionally made noises.
“Gyeee,” she tried.
“Gyeehn… gen?”
“Close,” Gen said.
“Drop the first part. Guh. En. Gen.”
“Guh… ennn…”
“Gen.”
“…Gen.”
“YES!” Gen threw his arms up.
“That’s it! That’s me! You said my name!”
The aspen dryad blinked.
She did not smile.
She just stared at him with those cold red eyes and then opened her mouth and said it again, clearer this time.
“Gen.”
“Beautiful. Alright, next word. Watch my mouth. Tree. Tuh. Ree. Tree.”
High above him, in the branches of the stump, something rustled.
Gen did not even look up.
“Groova,” he said, “I know you’re there.”
A pause.
Her wild black hair was full of leaves.
Her red eyes went wide with an innocence that fooled absolutely nobody.
“Gen!” she said, way too cheerfully.
“Groova not hiding! Groova was checking the top of the tree. For safety. Very important.”
“Uh huh. You’ve been checking the top of the tree for five hours, and somehow every time I turn around you’re right above my head.”
Groova dropped down from the branches and landed in front of him.
She folded her arms and tried to look casual.
“Gen teaching the pale one. Groova wants to learn too.”
“You already know how to talk,” Gen said.
“Groova knows how to talk BETTER,” Groova corrected, with a pointed look at the aspen dryad.
“Groova can say lots of words. Gen look!”
She puffed out her chest and announced: “Teleportation!”
The word came out perfect.
Gen blinked.
“Okay, that’s impressive. Where did you learn that one?”
“Groova heard Nøx say it,” Groova said smugly.
“Groova remembers everything. Gen look again! Miasma!”
She said it with the same dramatic pause, chest out, like she was presenting a trophy.
“Great word,” Gen said.
“Very useful. But right now we’re teaching her the basics. Sit down and behave.”
Groova sat.
She did not behave.
She sat exactly one foot behind the aspen dryad with her arms crossed and her eyes boring holes into the back of the pale woman’s head.
The aspen dryad ignored her completely.
She was focused on Gen.
“Tree,” Gen said.
“Tuh. Ree.”
“…Tuh,” the dryad said.
“Ree.”
“…Ree.”
“Tree.”
The dryad’s mouth moved.
Her voice came out rough and cold, like wind through dead leaves.
“Tree.”
“PERFECT!”
Behind her, Groova made a noise like a deflating sail.
“Next word,” Gen said.
“Water. Wuh. Ah. Ter. Water.”
The aspen dryad watched his mouth.
“Wuh…”
“Ah…”
“Wuh… ah…”
“Ter. Water.”
“…Wah-ter.”
“Water! Yes! Great!”
Groova shot forward before he could finish.
“Gen look! Gen look! Groova can say it too!” She grabbed a branch off the ground and held it up.
“Photosynthesis!”
Gen stared at her.
“Did you just say photosynthesis?”
“Groova learned it from the old trees,” Groova said, nodding seriously.
“It means the tree eats the sun. Groova likes eating the sun.”
“Groova, that’s not what photosynthesis means.”
“Groova knows what it means. Gen is just jealous because Groova said a bigger word.”
Gen sighed and turned back to the dryad.
“Alright. Try this one. Sun. Sss. Un. Sun.”
The dryad’s lips moved.
“Sss…”
“Un…”
“…Ssun.”
“So close. Drop the extra s. Sun.”
“…Sun.”
“YES! You got it!”
And for the first time all day, the corner of the aspen dryad’s mouth twitched.
It was not a smile.
It was the shadow of a smile.
But it was something.
Groova saw it.
Groova’s jealousy meter hit the red.
“Gen look!” Groova announced, planting herself between them.
She spread her arms wide, took a deep breath, and recited: “Unpredictability!”
The word hung in the air.
“Where,” he said slowly, “did you learn unpredictability?”
“Groova heard the pale one growl it once,” Groova said, completely serious.
“The pale one doesn’t talk.”
“She growls it,” Groova insisted.
“In her sleep. She dreams about the word.”
“Groova. Sit. Down.”
Groova sat down.
She did not stay down, but she sat down.
“Okay,” Gen said, turning back to the dryad, “next word. Leaf. Luh. Eef. Leaf.”
The aspen dryad tilted her head.
She reached up and touched a single pale leaf that had fallen into her hair.
She held it up to the light.
“Luh… eef.”
“Leaf. You’re doing great.”
“…Leaf.”
“YES! That’s four words today! You’re a natural!”
Behind him, Groova stood up.
She cracked her knuckles.
“Gen look,” she said, and her voice had gone low and serious.
“Groova has been saving this one.”
She took a breath.
She squared her shoulders.
And she said, one word at a time:
“Antidisestablishmentarianism.”
Gen’s jaw dropped.
The aspen dryad’s head tilted.
Even the birds went quiet.
“What,” Gen whispered.
“What the fuck. How do you know that word.”
“Groova heard it once,” Groova said.
“From a very smart snail. Groova never forgot. Groova is the best student. Not the pale one.”
Gen rubbed his face with both hands.
“… You’re fucking with me… wheres Nøx, hes still her huh? Nøx! Stop fucking with me- ya know what.. Alright. One more word, and then we take a break.”
He pointed at Groova.
The aspen dryad followed his finger.
“That’s Groova,” Gen said.
“Groo. Va. Groova.”
The aspen dryad stared at Groova.
Groova stared back.
There was a full minute of silence between the two dryads.
“…Groo,” the aspen dryad said.
“Va.”
“…Groova.”
“YES!” Gen clapped his hands.
“You just said her name! Groova, did you hear that? She said your name!”
For a moment, something complicated moved across Groova’s face.
Her jealousy warred with something softer.
She looked at the aspen dryad.
The aspen dryad looked back, expressionless.
“Groova heard,” Groova said quietly.
Then she pouted.
Her lower lip jutted out far enough to catch rain.
“But Gen taught HER my name,” Groova said.
“Gen never taught Groova her name. Gen is being unfair. Gen loves the pale one more.”
“Groova, I don’t even know her name. She can’t tell me yet. We’re working on it.”
“Groova is still jealous,” Groova declared.
She stood up.
Her shadow fell over the whole clearing.
Before Gen could react, one massive hand closed around his entire torso and lifted him clean off the ground.
“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?”
“Groova is going to do something,” Groova said, her voice dropping to a low rumble, “that only Groova can do.”
She cradled him against her chest with surprising gentleness and started walking toward the cabin.
Her steps were slow and deliberate.
Her red eyes were fixed on the door.
“Groova, put me down. We’re in the middle of a lesson. The dryad is going to think some type of way about this.”
“The pale one can practice by herself,” Groova said.
“Groova needs to remind Gen who his favorite student is.”
She carried him to the bedroom door.
She pushed it open with one foot.
She looked down at him with those burning red eyes, and the pout on her face had been replaced by something that made Gen’s stomach do a slow, worried flip.
“Gen is going to learn,” Groova said, “why Groova is best.”