“Grew about three or four new tracts this season, oh and you would be so proud of the acidbone trees! Finally getting along with the withering willows. Only took, what has it been now, twenty years? And most of the Purple Wisps attention— that’s the group of dryads that live by Death’s Grip creek. Gentle as the dawn, those lovelies…” Autumn’s Lost Wood continued well into the twilight.
Through wind and storm, forests talk to each other, sharing news on expansions or losses of territory, who and what is moving in and out, and general gossip. They share information about health and magic flows, they request and trade energies back and forth.
The Sylvan Graveyard, a petrified forest on the other side of the Netherworld, listened to its friend. “Oh you gorgeous thing! Very proud of you. I’ve been working on filling out inside, so growth of territory has been slow but I have managed to set up more saplings. Will wait a pile of decades before having the gorgons change them to stone. Had a delightful lava wash just the other day— old Mount Dragon Springs blasted out after getting all riled up. The gorgons had a field day, lounging and swimming in the molten rock. How are you set for ash, beloved? I’ve tons to spare, if it would be helpful?”
Autumn’s Lost thought it over for a few days before accepting the offer. At this point in the year, more ash would be welcome to help keep the air chill and the resident undead comfortable. “You really don’t mind?”
“Not in the slightest,” the Graveyard called back. “I’ll send a flight of will-o-wisps over tomorrow night. Would you be able to spare a few of hawhtorn fireflies in return?” Autumn’s Lost Wood readily agreed.