To Be a Tree

Autumn had always been Rustle's favorite season. It was the only time throughout the year when the foliage revealed its true colors, as trees that had been content with green during spring and summer let loose and exploded in a natural fireworks display of reds, oranges, yellows, browns, and every shade in between. Ponyville's close proximity to both the Everfree Forest and the Whitetail Woods afforded Rustle easy access to acres upon acres of trees decorated for the season, and when this time of year rolled around, the young colt with an amber coat and a dark brown mane often spent a great deal of time wandering through the woods and admiring the colors of autumn.

He much preferred the company of trees to other ponies. Trees would never tease him for hanging around with plants or burying his nose in books rather than going out to play with his classmates. Trees didn't sit at home and whisper in hushed tones that their son was antisocial, that he ought to spend more time with ponies his age, that he wasn't going to develop properly. Trees were content to stand in place day after day, year after year, allowing their branches and leaves to grow and flourish. There were days when Rustle wished that he could be a tree, a silent sentry of the forest.

That particular autumn evening was calm and cool, ideal for exploring the great outdoors. Unlike the other foals that attended his school, Rustle had no fear of the Everfree Forest, and he found that his walk this evening led him to the path that cut through that expansive forest. The sun still hung in the sky, providing ample light for him to see, and he hummed a happy tune as he trotted down the dirt pathway, his head swiveling from side to side as he drank in the beautiful sight of autumn's colorful glory.

As with most young colts, Rustle had a heightened sense of adventure, and on a whim, he deviated from the path and skipped happily through the woods. Recently fallen leaves crunched under his hooves, and a light breeze rustled the branches above his head. He smiled wide, relishing the sights and sounds of nature as he descended deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Everfree.

Soon, the foliage grew thicker, and Rustle found himself having to concentrate as he weaved through the closely-spaced trunks of proud maples, oaks, and birches. He continued on, his natural curiosity overriding any concerns he may have had about ending up lost. He wanted – almost needed – to know what was just around the next trunk, what sights would await him in this panorama of natural splendor. The sun's light was starting to fade, but Rustle hardly noticed, instead pressing on in the direction he believed was forward. A stirring within his spirit told him that he was on the verge of seeing something amazing, and with dogged determination, he kept walking.

Suddenly, he stepped between two particularly thick trunks and was met with a wide open space. His eyes widened as he paused to investigate the clearing. The grass grew long and wild, bending and swirling like an ocean of green, and all around the perimeter stood trees taller than any of the others he had seen thus far. In the fading sunlight, they appeared proud and stately, like kings adorned with crowns of gold and crimson, and he felt his heart swell with admiration at the sight. The other foals didn't know what they were missing.

His attention was drawn to the center of the clearing, and if it was even possible, his eyes grew wider still. Amidst a sea of grass, standing alone almost perfectly in the middle of the clearing, stood a single tree. This one, however, was unlike any other he'd ever seen before. It wasn't as tall as the others surrounding the clearing, but the coloration of its leaves struck him as unusual. While autumn brought with it a bevy of colors, these leaves appeared to be pink; they weren't just a lighter shade of red, which he'd seen before, but a bright, obvious pink. Its trunk, too, was not the typical light or dark brown that most trees shared, nor was it even a deeper red like some species. Instead, it bore a yellowish tint, one which stood out in a twilit glow from the sinking sun.

Rustle stood for several minutes, admiring the strange but beautiful sight of the lonely tree. Its branches laden with pink leaves swayed gently and freely in the autumn breeze, and he felt his heart grow warm. His hooves began to carry him forward, driven more out of instinct than anything else. Slowly, he made his way across the grass toward the tree. The more he studied it, the more he felt a strange sense of comfort wash over him. Its trunk promised to be strong and firm, a place for him to lean against and relax; its canopy promised shade and protection for the young colt; the soft rustling of its leaves promised to be a sweet lullaby, carried to his ears by the wafting wind. Step by step, he came closer to the tree, enraptured by both its mystery and its captivating beauty.

Finally, he arrived at the tree, and with a cautious hoof, he reached out to touch it, almost as if to reassure himself that it wasn't just a figment of his overactive imagination. Hoof touched against bark, and he felt a slight shiver run down his spine. Oh, this tree, standing alone in a field of wild grass in the midst of the Everfree Forest, was very real, and he had found it all by himself. Rustle gently rubbed his hoof against the trunk. The bark was solid and strong, just as he'd suspected it would be, and he loved the feeling of it against his hoof.

One part of him wanted to gallop back through the woods to find his parents so he could tell them all about this amazing discovery, while another part told him that it was a stupid idea to share this find with anypony else, that he needed to keep this secret. The latter emotion won out; he knew that if he shared this wonderful knowledge, it would only lead to more teasing and worried looks. The possibility of some overeager lumberjack coming out to this serene, peaceful place and chopping this incredible tree down filled him with dread as well, and he stepped closer to the tree as if to prevent some phantom pony with an axe from swinging it into the yellow-tinted trunk. His hoof gave one last rub against the bark before he leaned his head in and placed his cheek against it.

Rustle had heard that earth ponies were born with a special connection with the land, that plants and earth-bound animals responded better to them than to pegasi or unicorns. He'd never particularly believed that statement before that moment, but the instant his head pressed against the bark of the strange tree, he began to suspect that it was very true. He recoiled quickly, stepping away from the tree and trying to process what he had just heard.

A voice.

It was barely audible, and he thought for a moment that it may have come from another pony, but a quick look around confirmed that he was the only quadruped in the area. He already knew that wasn't the answer, however; as much as he wanted to deny it, the voice had only come to his ear when he leaned against the bark of the tree, and it seemed to have emanated from within the mysterious plant. There were no words, at least none that he recognized, but he'd definitely heard some form of speech. It seemed to him like a foreign language, much like what he was studying in school. His curiosity piqued, he placed his head against the trunk once again, hoping to catch some sign that he hadn't just been hearing things.

He heard nothing.

A sigh of relief – or was it frustration? – escaped his lips. He'd clearly imagined the voice, even though the memory of the faintly heard words refused to leave his head. Perhaps he was just tired; after all, it was getting rather late, as evidenced by the fading light. As if on cue, his mouth opened wide in a yawn, and his eyelids suddenly felt much heavier than they had been only moments before. He knew he needed to get home to his parents, that they would be worried sick about him. His head swiveled up. The pink canopy of the tree set his mind at ease. All the worries about home started to fade. He felt very peaceful.

The trunk was strong and solid, but still a comfortable resting place for his back. Rustle tucked his forelegs close to his body while his hind legs splayed out. He would only lie down for a little while, only long enough to rest his eyes. He'd head home after a quick nap. After all, he'd made it all the way out here; how hard would it be to get back? Rustle released another yawn. Almost of their own accord, his eyes drifted shut, and the dim glow of twilight was replaced by darkness as he began to slip into slumber. A quick nap, not a big deal. Only a few minutes.

Just before he crossed the boundary between awake and asleep, a soft sound echoed through his head. It was the same voice as earlier, but this time, it didn't give him pause. This time, the words of a familiar lullaby tripped across the edge of his consciousness, and the soothing sounds sent Rustle off to dreamland.

Hush now, quiet now, it's time to lay your sleepy head...

***

Rustle's eyes snapped open, but the blackness remained. For a moment, his heart raced with panic, but soon, his vision adjusted accordingly. Instead of a field of inky, dark nothingness, a series of shapes in varying shades of gray unfolded before him. He briefly wondered where he was, but the memories returned soon after his eyesight.

The first thing that struck him as odd was the lack of moonlight. Clearly, the sun had long ago sunk below the horizon, blanketing Equestria in the canopy of night, but as Rustle roused himself from slumber and looked up at the sky, all he could see was more grayness. Not even a single star shone; the world seemed bathed in utter darkness, and each blink went by almost unnoticed as his eyes continued their struggle to grow accustomed to the absence of any illumination.

He was still leaning against the trunk of the strange tree, and he stretched out his forelegs, trying to shake off the tiredness. By now, he knew that his parents would be going mad with worry; he'd stayed out late wandering the woods before, but he'd never been out quite this late. To be honest, he wasn't even sure how long he'd been asleep. He was going to be grounded for a very long time, and it would probably be better for him if he got home as quickly as possible rather than cause them any further concern. Rustle finished his stretch and started to roll, hoping to stand on his hooves.

His hind legs didn't move.

He managed to catch himself with his forelegs, crying out in surprise as his rear limbs proved immobile. Rustle pushed his body back up against the tree and scratched his head with a hoof, wondering why his legs hadn't gone along with the rest of his body. Maybe they're just still asleep, he mused, flashing back to times when his extremities had lost their feeling. Something deep inside of him screamed that it wasn't the truth, that something was terribly wrong, but he drove away his concerns and tried to lift his hind legs again.

Again, they refused to budge. This time, however, Rustle paid attention to the details. His eyes were nearly adjusted, so he could see the outline of his legs as a darker shade of gray against the lighter colored grass, but he still couldn't make out exactly what was wrong. What worried him, oddly enough, was the fact that he could still feel his legs. They clearly weren't asleep, as he'd suspected earlier. The part of him from earlier shouted even louder, threatening to drive him to panic, but he tried his best to stay calm. He drew in deep breaths and let them out slowly, waiting for his eyes to conform to the dark.

Rustle concentrated on a spot on the ground to his right until he could make out more details of the grass. Satisfied that he could see, he turned his gaze back to the front. His eyes opened wide, and for a second, he forgot to breathe.

A thick, gnarled root had snaked out of the ground, and the knotted wood was wrapped around each of Rustle's rear hooves, holding him tightly in place. He froze. When he'd laid down for his nap, his legs had been free; he certainly hadn't put himself in this situation. A thousand possibilities arose in his mind, each one more outlandish than the next, and Rustle pulled and struggled, attempting to free himself from his newly-formed bonds.

All his efforts proved to be in vain, and he paused for a moment to breathe and think. He looked left and then right, hoping to catch sight of somepony else, but once again, he was the only living being besides the grass, the tree against which he leaned, and trees that formed the circumference of the clearing.

He did a double take.

The trees.

Perhaps it was a trick of the darkness, or his own imagination playing a prank, but the clearing appeared to be much smaller than it had when he had gone to sleep. He tried to convince himself that he was seeing things, that the border was the same distance it had always been from where he now lay trapped beneath the mysterious tree. Even as his gaze followed one particular maple from roots to treetop, marveling at how incredibly tall it was, he told himself over and over that it was impossible, that everything was fine, and that he would find a way out of this predicament.

He heard the voice again.

Even though he still couldn't make out any words, it was louder this time, almost like it was closer. Just like the trees. Instead of coming from his ear against the trunk, however, this voice sounded like it had drifted down from the leaves that shook and rustled in the canopy above his head. He craned his neck up to look at the foliage he knew was pink, but which was just another shade of dull gray in the dark of the night. The colorless mass swayed back and forth slowly, but Rustle felt as though something was missing. A sense of dread overtook him as he realized what that was.

He didn't feel any wind, not even the slightest hint of a breeze. Panic began to set in as he watched the tree's branches move and shift in the still night air. His mouth hung open, but he stayed frozen in place, his throat practically begging him to scream out in terror but his mouth unable to actually follow through.

Would you?

That time, he heard words. His heart started to race, and even though he knew he wouldn't see anypony else, his eyes darted around the clearing, hoping against hope to catch sight of a galloping pony coming to his rescue. Nopony else was there. It was only him and the trees, and yet, he heard speech.

Would you like to?

He turned his upper half as best he could and looked at the tree against which he'd been leaning. In the fading light of day, its yellowish bark and brilliant pink leaves had attracted his attention and filled him with wonder and calm. Now, it was nothing more than a dark gray wall, close and imposing. He felt as though it was moving towards him, and he ducked his head and closed his eyes tight, willing all of this to end.

Would you like to be a tree?

Rustle didn't know where the voice was coming from; frankly, he didn't care. He only wanted to get away, to run as fast as he possibly could from this clearing and never come back, but his bound hind legs didn't afford him that opportunity. He couldn't even scream. All he could do was look around, turning his head every which way, desperate to catch some sign that this was nothing more than a nightmare. He bent down and bit hard on his own foreleg, wincing in both pain and terror as he realized this was definitely not a dream.

He looked out toward the border of the clearing, and this time, he knew he wasn't seeing things. The line of trees was even closer than it had been before; the thick trunks of the towering monstrosities now lay only a few yards from him. Their branches dipped and bowed, not driven by wind, and the rustling leaves of all the trees combined to form a cacophony of crackling that sounded like something collapsing and breaking apart. Rustle kicked and pulled and struggled mightily, but each motion proved fruitless.

Suddenly, he heard a new sound. The voice that had spoken to him earlier was now amplified a hundredfold, seeming to come from all around him at once. It was like a multitude of ponies talking at once, and he could only catch one or two words amidst the overwhelming noise.

A tree...

...just like us...

...join us here...

...be a tree.

Just as quickly as the voices had begun, they stopped, and an eerie stillness settled over the clearing. For a moment, Rustle wondered if the whole ordeal was over, and his heart leaped at the thought of escape.

It was not to be.

The roots that gripped his hind legs suddenly started to sink back into the earth. Rustle watched in silent horror as his hooves were carried along with the gnarled wood, but he looked away, not wanting to see his own legs break as they came between solid wood and solid earth. He expected to feel the pain of broken skin and shattering bones any moment. When no pain came, he dared to look back. He instantly wished he hadn't. The roots had pulled his hind legs down, yes, but to his utter disbelief, his legs had sunk into the ground along with the roots, and already, his hooves and half of his hind legs had disappeared into the dirt. Carried by momentum, the rest of his body shot upright, and soon, he was positioned like he was standing on his rear hooves, his forelegs flailing about in the air.

He continued to sink, descending deeper and deeper into the earth. All the while, he heard the creaking of tree branches begin anew above him, and the occasional word drifted to his ear. In his panicked state, he paid no attention to the voices, instead struggling valiantly to dislodge himself from the dirt that was slowly sucking him down like quicksand. It was no use. Rustle was trapped, helpless to stop his body from sinking.

All at once, he stopped moving. He looked down, unsure of what was happening, but saw that he had been buried up to his hips in the ground. No matter how much he shifted and moved, however, he remained stuck, held fast by something he could not see.

Then, a new feeling altogether coursed through his body. He felt his hooves, which were deep inside the earth, begin to split apart into what felt like a thousand tiny strands. Each individual strand seemed to snake away from his body, digging through the earth. The strangest thing about it was that there was no pain. In fact, if anything, he felt a strange sense of nourishment beginning to flow into his body from his hind legs, which were separating into innumerable tiny tendrils and worming their way down and out. He felt every sensation of his body as it stretched out in tiny veins through the soil, and his heart filled with terror as he realized what was happening.

Rustle was taking root.

He felt his midsection go stiff and begin to harden. His forelegs snapped out to either side of him, beyond his control, and they too began to split into several thick, finger-like sections. He opened his mouth wide, finally finding the strength to scream out, but no sound came from him; he tasted hints of wood and leaves just before his tongue fused with the bottom of his mouth and a thick branch sprouted within him and came pouring out of his mouth. His eyes drifted close and would never reopen, but he could still sense everything around him. His ears melted into his head, blending in with the rest of his frame and forming into knotholes. Each of his forelegs sprouted a myriad of branches, and several more grew rapidly out of his midsection; each one bloomed several leaves. He stood stiff and still, frozen in this one spot as his roots dug deeper into the earth, scouring the soil for food.

Rustle's consciousness started to fade. He could no longer see nor hear, but he felt every inch of his transforming body as it assumed its final shape. His will to escape was replaced by a desire to eat and survive, to thrive and grow and flourish. The voice from earlier, now crystal-clear and louder than ever before, came to him once again, this time resonating through the earth and seeming to surround him. His last thought was one of sorrow as he heard the last words that he would ever understand as Rustle, the pony.

You're going to love being a tree.

***

The search for the missing colt went on for several weeks, but no trace was ever found. His grieving parents blamed themselves, as parents are wont to do, and the whole town mourned the passing of young Rustle, no doubt a victim of some sort of predator from the Everfree Forest. For generations, ponies in Ponyville would tell their young ones the story of Rustle, the colt that didn't listen to his mother and father and wandered away into the dark, mysterious woods, never to be seen again, and the foals would quake and shiver, vowing to listen to their parents and do as they're told.

In a grassy clearing in the middle of the Everfree, a tree with yellow-tinted bark and leaves that burst forth in brilliant pink during the autumn sat basking in the sunlight. It was no longer alone. Only a few yards from it grew a young sapling with an amber trunk and leaves of dark brown. Its branches swayed almost frantically, even though there was no wind.

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