A Life Lived in Hundreds

by Botched Lobotomy

1381

‘You need a name,’ said Smith, peering critically up into its branches. ‘Can’t call ya sapling forever.’
Trees were good conversationalists. They knew when to stay quiet.
‘Hmm. What do you think of Hazel? Bit basic, I agree.’ She tapped her chin, settling comfortably against the roots. ‘Sunny! Thoughts on Sunny?’
Nothing from the tree.
‘You’re right, not enough sun round these parts for that. Leaverton? Nah, too fancy.’ She smiled. ‘Hmm... Woody doesn’t suit. Sides, that one’s taken.’
Wind blew mournful round the trunk.
‘Alright, fine. Moody. How about that?’
The leaves rustled indignantly, and she cracked a smile.

Comments

[Bicyclette]

hehe, trees are good conversationalists, aren't they? bringing back the earlier chapter of naming Woody as a filly. and this feels like a nice, fun way to illustrate that touch of eccentricity in being alone in her way that Smith has, though from what we saw of Applejack she did inherit her grandmother's tree-anthropomorphizing (hippomorphizing?) tendencies.