Submission (#5945) Approved

In the heart of Enmir, on one of its many tree-borne settlements, stood an impressive treehouse, rumored to be the first—or, one of the first—that had been constructed here with the help of noble or royal nin, depending on the teller.  The dwelling was impressive, perched high among the colossal trees with walls made of intricate wood woven seamlessly into branches and carved with marks said to dispel miasma, or bring luck, or avert disaster, or even protect all that dwelled within of any who mean them harm.  Now, it was a place where moss and ivy coiled around each wooden beam, and small bioluminescent mushrooms and hanging laps cast an ethereal glow upon the floors.  Spiral staircases led from the first floor to hidden rooms, and the air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth.

The treehouse was a masterpiece of nature and a testament to the crafter’s skills, where time seemed to flow like the meandering waters of the swamp beneath.  It was a place where time had left its mark, and broken boards had been lovingly repaired, where the bonds of family and friendship had grown, and the town had spread from its center, connecting each new dwelling and structure with hanging rope bridges.

Casimiro was immediately enchanted by the beauty of the old house.  He approached the whole town as if in a trance, constantly being reminded by his pomu that he must shut his mouth or catch the flies that lingered over the water’s edges.  They wandered, the bridges swaying gently underfoot, the trees heavy with green draping overhead casting an array of dappled shadows.  The pomu even managed to reach and touch a curious bird that had fluttered to the rope and wood fencing surrounding a store, receiving a curious peck, as if the bird inquired for food.

“None to give,” Casimiro agreed with his pomu, who gazed at the small bird in wonder as it launched itself from the rope and disappeared between the draping branches.

As the sun’s rays filtered through the thick canopy, casting shadows upon the mossy trunks, he overheard from nearby elnin a snatch of a half-finished conversation.

“…South-facing balcony has become perilous,” there was a tinge of concern, “If we don’t repair those boards soon it could collapse.”

Another voice joined the first, filled with a heavy emotion, “We haven’t received enough volunteers this month to do many of the repairs needed…” And that was all Casimiro needed to hear.

He approached the elnin eagerly, and after a brief conversation, obtained the information he needed to fill the gaps.  They needed volunteers to fix the homes ahead of the miasma seasons.  For this, the town had gathered volunteers and set them to work on the most urgent or prominent repairs.  However, whether by a miscalculation, ill-luck, or a mix of both, not enough volunteers could be gathered this year to repair the older homes, which required more patience and skill.  While Casimiro couldn’t be called a master carpenter by any means, he knew his way around routine repairs, and eagerly volunteered what knowledge and extra paws he could provide to fix the ancient home.  It was a reluctantly agreed to task, but with little options, one of the elnin set off.

Casimiro followed eagerly, footsteps unsure amidst the swaying bridges and rustling leaves.  But forth into the swampland town they ventured, armed with basic tools and an unshakable resolve.  The path to the south-facing balcony of the ancient home was overgrown with all manner of thorny vines and roots, but his guide navigated them with ease, and he found himself mimicking the older elnin’s surefooted movements to obtain steady passage.

When they reached the balcony, Casimiro leaned forward, gazing at the towering trees that surrounded it, their leaves whispering against the wood of the home.  The balcony’s boards here were indeed in a sorry state—rotted, splintered, and outright missing in places.  The damage had clearly been caused by years of exposure to the swamp’s humid air and the occasional passing storm, no doubt precipitated by the occasional heavy weight of the surrounding trees.

The older elnin eyed the broken boards with a keen eye.  He prodded and stepped carefully, identifying the most troublesome area, and swiftly set Casimiro to work, fetching the most needed materials – new boards to replace the broken ones, ropes, nails, and all manner of equipment that would be set out to complete the task.

Their hands moved in concert, pomus occasionally lending what help they could from their shadows, Casimiro showing himself sufficiently careful and dexterous at the task.  They replaced the rotten boards, carefully measuring and removing material to ensure strength and durability.  Despite the swift work of both the elnin and the kittom, hours turned into days, and they toiled tirelessly, pausing only for sleep, for water, and for food.  As they worked, other kittoms and elnins dropped by to help, the dwelling proving a testament of the bond between the inhabitants and the enchanted swamplands of Enmir these elnin called home.

It was only after many days of labor that elnin sat back to admire their work.  The once-dilapidated balcony now gleamed with the radiance of the repair.  The wood was smooth and sturdy, and the artisan, even now as they watched, carefully carved the intricate patterns etched into the planks into the wood.  Using the old material and neighboring planks as reference as needed.

The loving repair was but a small part of the work to be done, but Casimiro couldn’t help the grin that crept into his face as they admired their work.