There is a village by the forest. This is known.

To a mortal mind, this was expected. The forest was lush, teeming with life. The plains nearby made perfect farmlands, their soil rich from thousands of years of mineral deposits and decaying plant life. The crystalline springs provide water enough to meet the needs of the people- more, in fact. The springs have provided for far more than a handful of human bodies. To a mortal mind, this small, secluded part of the world is as close to paradise as it gets. The waters provide life, the land provides food, and the forest provides sanctuary. The people of the village have found a realm who’s only history is sustaining life, and they have found that it can sustain their lives, too. It is known, to those in possession of a mortal mind, that if one finds a suitable piece of land to live on, the best course of action is to settle. To take root.

I am not in possession of a mortal mind, and I find this outlook amusing.

The village by the forest is not the first of its kind. The people of the village, young in their ways and new to this stretch of earth- are ignorant to this. They are blind to the ruins around them, deaf to the songs of the dead buried beneath their feet. They will figure it out, eventually, through pottery fragments and grave findings and ghost stories told around campfires. Eventually, it will dawn on them that they are not the first to come here, nor will they be the last. Eventually, their pottery fragments and graves will be found, by another village. No matter what happens, they will return- to the truth, to their graves, to the earth, to the forest. This is known.

Perhaps, ‘amusing’ is not the right term. The language of the mortals- the language I have adapted as my own tongue, for ease of communication- is not exactly suited for the topics I find myself needing to articulate. My guardian tells me I have habits of using mortal language oddly, that I use archaic terms and unconventional speech patterns. I tell him that the language of mortals moves far too quickly for me to keep up with, and that he of anyone should understand that, and as long as I am being understood, it probably doesn’t matter what terms I’m using or how I phrase things.

I do not find the circular habits of mortals amusing, at least not in the sense of the word in which it means ‘laughable’. I do not find their passing, their incredibly short lifespans laughable. There is a sadness to it, undenibly, but sadness can take many forms. I watch the mortals, from afar, as they perform the same rites as their ancestors once did. This, I find pleasing. I watch their joy, their sadness, their festivals and funerals. It brings me peace to know they have not changed beyond recognizability, that they remain the same after so long. These patterns, I suppose, are what I find ‘amusing’. Observing them brings me joy.

There are not many children in the village, and many are young. In time, they will reach the age where the forest becomes an alluring mystery, one they will dedicate themselves to solving. They will sneak away from their parents and their morning chores alike, they will hide behind houses and laugh at their own conspicousness, and they will dash into the wood as fast as they can, to avoid being caught.