Prologue: From Death, Life

Deep in the woods, under tree cover so dense the forest floor was poorly lit even at noon, Ulrike knew her end had come.

“......Ah.........”

Her open eyes reflected a dark-green world. There were no other people around, not even any birds or animals; there was only the light that filtered through the branches, slicing the dim darkness into parts and drawing strange patterns.

It would most likely be the last thing she ever saw.

“.........Ah......Ah...”

She was no longer able to form proper words. And no wonder—the branch of a fallen tree pierced her temple. It was a miracle that she was still conscious at all, even if only just.

“.........Oh...Ah...”

It was her bad luck that a sharp branch had been pointing straight up where she fell. Worse luck still that she had fallen sideways. The temples are the thinnest part of the skull, so soft that even a branch, given the right angle and force, can pierce them.

Yes. That was all Ulrike was: unlucky.

She had only come to the forest in the first place to gather mushrooms. Gathering wild mushrooms was a task often left to children, for it did not demand the strength of field work. Ulrike knew well where to find the mushrooms she sought and what kinds to pick, where there might be dangerous animals, where deadly rocks or cliffs awaited. She could have found them with her eyes closed. Or at least, she had been fully convinced she could when she set off into the woods.

And now, that overconfidence would prove fatal.

She hadn’t noticed that part of the slope was still slippery from the rainstorms that had soaked the area right up until the day before. Planning to take the same “shortcut” she always did, Ulrike had traversed the boulders that dotted the area, hopping from one to the next. The leaf mold was soft, making it difficult to walk as she struggled to gain footing.

In the split second she jumped onto the rock, her world turned upside down. She’d reached out a hand that grasped nothing but air. And then she was caught up in a landslide, helpless, her small body slamming against one rock and then another as she tumbled.

At the end of the last bounce, the branch of that fallen tree had been waiting for her.

“...Ah......gah...ah...”

She could barely comprehend what had happened to her. But she was going numb already; there was no sensation, no pain. Just her vision, slowly turning crimson.

I’m... going to d... die...

She felt only a striking tranquility, a resignation. Strangely, she wasn’t scared. Only sad that she wouldn’t see her parents again.

It had been only a little over ten years since she had entered this world—not a long life by any measure—yet she found memories floating through her mind. Although her life had not been rich or full, this was only normal in her experience, and she didn’t resent it. She remembered:

The time she’d been eating stew, and her mother smiled at her.

The time she’d been scolded for taking out her father’s farming tools.

The time she’d fought with her friend over something trivial.

The first time she’d held a newborn kitten.

The time she’d been caught in a landslide that tore away half her roots.

The time several branches had broken, unable to bear the weight of the snow.

And then—

...What’s... happen...ing...?

Something strange mixed with her memories. They weren’t her memories alone. Someone else’s recollections were there, too. No—not someone else, but something else. These weren’t human memories. Humans didn’t have roots or leaves or branches. They certainly didn’t taste the sweetness of the sunlight.

I... I... I...

Her consciousness slowly began to expand, like a single drop of blood spreading through a pool of water. That was when Ulrike noticed a single green bud pushing out of the trunk of the fallen tree. It had two healthy leaves, and the light through the treetops shone on it.

It was so young, it looked like she could have broken it in half at a touch. But even the countless, towering trees of this forest had begun as sprouts no bigger than this.

Suddenly, Ulrike remembered something her father had told her while he was at work in the fields. It takes more than light and water for trees and grass to grow, he’d said. They might grow with those two things alone, but they wouldn’t be healthy, abundant.

They needed something called “fertilizer”—something made of the excrement and decayed corpses of animals and birds, mixed with soil. The animals, which eat plants, would one day die, become earth, and help the plants grow full and strong.

So... will I...?

Die. Rot. Eventually, become a tree in this forest.

No. She wouldn’t have to wait until she rotted. This fallen tree already connected her to that young bud. She was already in the process of becoming nutrients for it—becoming a part of it.

She had neither the knowledge nor the wisdom to fully understand what that meant, and anyway, the power of complex thought was beyond her now.

She made no sound as her heart stopped beating.

A soft rain began to fall on the forest, as if mourning her death. Some drops landed on thick branches, others were caught by layers of leaves, but some fell on her body, and on the tiny life beside her rejoicing in its birth.