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“Lady Persephone,” an elf said as he ran inside a hollow trunk tree. Though the inside of the tree was empty and the sky could be seen by raising one’s head, it was still alive and well, green light softly pulsing through its bark. A table made of smooth roots wriggled in the center of the trunk, and there was a red-headed elf sitting on a cushion made of leaves beside it. She wore a robe made of red feathers, traces of flames dancing around her body. “There’s a serious problem.”
“A problem, Sir Thatcher?” the red-headed elf asked as she tilted her head up, away from the book in her lap. “Another philosophical question or confounding problem about biology?”
“Err, no,” Thatcher said and scratched his head. “Though I’d love to hear your opinion on these strange birds I found, there’s an even more serious issue at hand.” The elf’s face turned grim, his brown eyes narrowing. He adjusted the sleeves of his green robe before taking in a deep breath. “The forest is being invaded.”
Persephone blinked, waiting for more. When it was clear Thatcher wasn’t going to say anything else, she tilted her head to the side. “Making me guess? Then are the locusts at it again? I thought we introduced the frogs to take care of them, no?”
“So you really aren’t omniscient,” Thatcher said and exhaled. “The rumors were wrong after all.” A bitter smile appeared on the elf’s face before he shook his head. “We’re being invaded by the dwarves”—his voice lowered to the point where Persephone had to strain her ears to hear him—“and the undead.”
“Pardon?” Persephone asked. “Can you speak up? Why are you trying to turn such a wonderful, sunny day into a dreary one by acting like you’re imparting the worst kind of news to me? Even if the news is terrible, you must deliver it in a cheerful, upbeat manner.”
Thatcher’s brow furrowed. “Even so, sometimes there are cases where a dreary manner must be adopted to successfully convey the weight of the matter. For example, let’s say my neighbor’s mother died and I have to be the one to tell her. How can I possibly notify her in a cheerful, upbeat manner without crushing her?”
“Like this,” Persephone said and cleared her throat. “Today’s such a momentous day; another soul has returned to Gaea. Your mother.” She nodded. “See, that’s not so hard, is it? Now try telling me the news again.”
Thatcher’s expression darkened. “Wonderful news, our home, the forest, is currently entertaining uninvited guests,” he said in a voice that was dryer than sand. “From the east, the dwarves are adopting our culture by removing families from their homes and transporting them to the dwarven capital. From the west, skeletons are roaming the lands, removing all the pests and nasty critters in their path.” He took in a deep breath. “Along with our people! There’s no way I can spin an undead invasion into something cheerful and upbeat!”
Persephone sighed. “This is why you weren’t nominated to be on the council,” she said. “The outlook you have on life is so depressing and pessimistic. Look at things from the bright”—her brow furrowed as her gaze snapped towards Thatcher’s—“did you say undead?”
Thatcher nodded.
“I apologize,” Persephone said, lowering her head. “Sometimes, I think too much about the words I have to say next that I’m not really listening to other people. A legion of undead are invading, oh dear. That really is a serious problem.” She scratched her head. “How can I spin it in a positive way to notify the council without alarming them?”
“If you’ll excuse my bluntness,” Thatcher said, taking in another deep breath, “this is something we need to be alarmed about. The phoenix matriarch is still preoccupied from hatching her young not too long ago, and trying to make the situation seem lighter than it actually is will have terrible effects.”
“You may be right,” Persephone said and furrowed her brow. “But the councilmembers are so old. What if their poor hearts can’t take the bad news?”
“I really hope they’re not that frail,” Thatcher said, his left eye twitching. “And I purposely came to find you instead of anyone else because you’re the closest one to the phoenix matriarch. Convince her to drive the intruders away.”
“But her young just hatched,” Persephone said, biting her lower lip. “I don’t think she’ll be willing to leave their side to deal with…”
Thatcher tilted his head to the side. “To deal with…?” he asked, imploring Persephone to go on. But she held up her hand instead.
“Yes, matriarch,” Persephone said, placing on hand on her ear. “This is Persephone speaking.” She paused. “Oh, silly me. Of course you’d know who you were sending a message to. I wasn’t thinking.” She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Uh-huh. Yes. Yes. No, I haven’t seen a baby phoenix leave your nest.” A few seconds later, her face paled. “No! There’s no issue at all! I’m sure your baby just went out for a little walk, err, flight.”
Thatcher’s eyes bulged, and he seized Persephone’s shoulders. Spittle flew onto her face as he shouted, “What do you mean there’s no issue at all!? Tell her about the undead!”
Persephone’s mouth fell open, and she blinked a few times. “Oh, um, matriarch. There might be a tiny issue with the forest—a minor one, really. There seem to be a few souls who’ve been given a second chance by Gaea who’re appreciating the beauty of nature in all its glory.”
Thatcher’s expression darkened as a tired-sounding voice rang out of Persephone’s forehead. It sounded ancient yet young, fierce yet gentle. And it said, “Persephone, really? Speak clearly, you nitwit.”
Persephone flinched and bit her lower lip. “Skeletons have invaded the forest.”
Thatcher and Persephone held their breaths, waiting for the matriarch’s response. A few seconds later, a massive pillar of flames rose up in the distance. Even from within the tree, they could feel the heat from the flames. “Watch over my children,” the ancient yet young voice said as a blazing blur flew over their heads. A dozen feathered, chirping bundles fell from the sky, gliding down into the hollow tree.
One of the baby phoenixes cried out, “Ah! It’s Percy! Everyone, scatter!”
Thatcher turned towards Persephone as all the phoenixes rushed out of the tree in different directions. “Do they not like you?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
Persephone bit her lower lip as her face turned red. She hung her head and muttered, “I tried bathing them once. In the river.”
“Dear lord,” Thatcher said, staring at Persephone, who was avoiding his gaze. “It’s a miracle how this colony hasn’t collapsed yet. Did I make the right choice in moving here…?”