Information
Alturas
Legacy Name: Alturas
The
Reborn JollinOwner:
QuagsireAge: 9 years, 6 months, 3 weeks
Born: October 12th, 2014
Adopted: 9 years, 6 months, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: October 12th, 2014
Statistics
- Level: 52
- Strength: 17
- Defense: 23
- Speed: 10
- Health: 17
- HP: 10/17
- Intelligence: 1
- Books Read: 1
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
♥ by User not found: bigbadwolf
click me for the original reference
The majestic redwoods of Fey Forest prevented most rays of the sun from ever reaching the forest floor, greedily drinking golden light from crowns that towered eighty feet above a carpet of leaves.
Alturas threw himself into the air over the long drop, the living branches of his tail clicking together as the wind whipped through his fur. He puts no faith in the familiar old saying of “Look before you leap.†Life is an adventure, one intended to be full of risks and the exhilaration of flying.
He landed easily on a wide branch, not hesitating for a moment before attempting a more challenging jump. Muscular hind legs gave him the power he needed to clear a branch heavy with leaves that offered no perch. He grinned, crouching low and launching himself once again, this time over a gap that would test the limits of his strength. A cry of sheer joy escaped his throat as he took tot eh air.
Claws scrabbled for a hold on the branch just out of his reach. The wind howled in his ears as he fell but he was not afraid. As the spirit of the redwoods he could trust his beloved trees to always offer a lower branch within his grasp. An irate robin took wing to scold him as he rattled the branch on which she’d built her nest. She shrieked an alarm cry as she took a closer look at his shape. Foxes were not supposed to climb trees and they most certainly could not fly.
Alturas closed his eyes and bowed his muzzle, allowing a soft white light to surround his body. The robin took some reassurance from his spirit sign but still would not take her eyes from his branched tail until it was flying away from her family branch.
Alturas barked a greeting to one of Froseti’s fairy friends. The white wolf spirit was always sending his helpers to some distant section of the forest. A few dryads had left the meadow to make homes in the tall redwood branches watched over by Alturas. He welcomed them, for every spirit knows the benefits of a dryad living in your trees.
He did not care for the other wolf spirit, the black-furred one known as Valdis. As the spirit of fate, she mainly took an interest in animals fated to die. It would happen on occasion that she would paw the trunk of a tree. Despite his best efforts, Alturas could do nothing for a redwood fated to die. Sometimes they would crush a young tree when their bases rotted away. This was a very painful occurrence for a spirit who knew the thoughts of every tree.
He was not without powers of his own. In winter and summer he pruned the branches of his tail, planting the twigs in a circle around precious seeds as a barrier against insects. Those seeds he protected always grew into trees with straight trunks and healthy leaves.
Spring and fall were the seasons of fruiting. The bright red berries that sprouted from the pruned twigs gave the trees their glorious color, assuring that each leaf would burst through their buds in a fan of ruby color. Those berries that came in autumn were life-sustaining food to help the redwoods outlast cruel winter.
The berries had another purpose, one Alturas never suspected until his first encounter with man.
The hiker had been separated from his group and had fallen down a steep hill. He could not move his leg without uttering a string of curses. He was fortunate enough to land beside a stream but his supply of jerky and dried fruit was gone after two days.
He thought he was hallucinating when a handsome russet fox with branches in his tail stepped out from behind a redwood sapling to observe him. The man dumped the contents of his canteen over his head, much to the spirit’s amusement. He then proceeded to wiggle his fingers and cluck at Alturas with his tongue, noticing the berries tangled in the fox’s fur. At that moment, those berries looked better than a slice of Mom’s fresh cherry pie.
Alturas gave the man a berry out of pity, rolling it over a dry strip of ground with the flick of a paw. With a groan of despair, the man snatched up the small snack and began to chew. It was as if he’d been served a full Thanksgiving dinner, complete with homemade gravy. When a search party located him three days later, he was just beginning to get hungry again. At first his story of the fox with the magic berries was dismissed as a result of too much time in the sun. He presented the tiny seed he’d kept in his pocket, one the world’s best botanist could not identify. The stories surrounding Fey Forest grew.
Many humans came seeking Alturas; some convinced he held the key to immortality and others simple curiosity seekers. Those hunters who did not get bored and give up might catch a glimpse of russet fur. Many dismissed this as a regular fox frightened by the noises of man.
There were a rare few who made a real effort. These men and women had the rare privilege to see Alturas in his entirety, for he adored the chase. When a human gave him an especially good run he would vanish, leaving behind a single berry as a reward. Humans did not realize the berries lost their magical properties when taken from the forest.
Alturas took care in going to ground though it had been many weeks since he’d seen signs of humans. This was not the season of fruiting but that was no guarantee some human from a distant city wouldn’t come stomping about in hiking boots to disturb his newly planted seeds.
He couldn’t stand to be on the ground for long. He raced up his favorite trunk, one at the center of the forest that outreached all other trees at eighty-five feet.
The vibrations of the bombs caused even the sturdiest trees to shudder. Alturas came to a dead stop, skinny legs wrapped tightly around the slender branch beneath him. He listened intently as the cries of many birds were raised in alarm. An ominous silence followed. He had to make an effort to flatten he fur that had risen on his shoulders against his will, a rare reaction for a spirit.
For once he climbed with care, intent on reaching the highest branch, He felt for the pain of his host and her tree-sisters. No tree had come to harm but the forest was heavy with a feeling of deep uneasiness.
He reached the top at last, poking his head above the leafy crown. Far in the distance where a human city had once stood was a great line of fire. A new kind of tree had formed there, one created from smoke that billowed high into the sky. It was a hideous sight, that tree with no branches that had no heart he could call to. Shaking his head in sadness, Alturas descended back to the green world below.
Story by Pureflower