Devarn sprinted through the thistles that blistered his green skin and tore at his leaf clothing. Tears blurred his vision, not that he knew where he was going. He just needed to be as far from the village as possible.
Devarn wasn’t sure what made today any different. Klybb and the other kids taunted him often, but Devarn couldn’t take it anymore.
All Babbumatta have a spirit animal born of nature, but Devarn didn’t have one. No matter how hard he strained and tried, he couldn’t summon them. He even tried outside of the special ceremony but to no avail. Not even Elder Blyssa held the answer. Nanna said he was just a late bloomer and told him to be patient. That excuse only carried Devarn so far.
“You’re cursed!” said Klybb as the others laughed. “Even the spirits know it.” They’d all formed a circle around Devarn for their taunts and jeers. Klybb gave a smirk. “Careful not to get too close, everyone, or you’ll get cursed too!”
“It’s not my fault,” stammered Devarn, fighting the urge to curl up and cry.
“Stop it, Kylbb.” All eyes turned to Wylla. Devarn had always liked Wylla, even if she did hang out with Kylbb and the others. He thought her dark eyes were pretty. She was cradling her spirit animal in her hands - a frog with an acorn on its head and a tiny tree sprouting from its back.
Klybb’s sneer faltered momentarily, but he quickly regained his bravado. “What’s a Babbumatta without a spirit animal?” Klybb let the question hang while his bush-like cat brushed against his leg. “You’re nothing, Devarn. Nothing. Everyone would be better off without you.”
Wylla’s eyes were full of pity as if she were staring at some pathetic injured animal. Devarn had never been so angry. The whole world was nothing but rage. With a primal scream, Devarn charged Klybb and pushed them both into a jumbled heap. Gasps filled the air as the other children watched, their eyes wide. Their stares threatened to lock Devarn in place. Before they could stop him, all Devarn could think to do was run.
The village built into the tree canopies loomed beyond the horizon. Rae’thi village was all he’d known. The web of wooden walkways between the colossal trees. Hundreds of thatched houses nestled into the branches. How each Babbumatta milled about their assigned jobs without complaint. The way the lanterns cast their warm, golden glow as the day’s light waned. Devarn swore he’d never go back.
He lost track of time as he continued forward. Devarn had never been this far before. Enormous ferns of emerald green lined the undergrowth, their feathery fronds reaching out toward him. Wildflowers of every hue peaked from the green. Towering trees like gnarled pillars pierced skyward. Their branches could almost touch Mount Puntu, which loomed high in the distance, poking beyond the canopy.
Just then, a sneaky root caught his foot, and his world spun out of control. Hurtling down a hill, his body bounced and rolled, limbs flailing in every direction. He let out a mixture of yelps, laughter, and even a whimper as the ground seemed to conspire against him. Twigs snagged his leaf clothing, pulling him deeper into the chaos of his unplanned descent.
Leaves brushed against his face like ticklish whispers, and dirt smeared across his skin, turning him into a wild, muddy mess. His once sure steps were now a dizzying dance of stumbles and tumbles, the world spinning around him in a reeling whirlwind of confusion.
Finally, with one last thud and a cloud of dust, Devarn stopped at the bottom of the hill, dizzy and disoriented. He lay there momentarily, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to understand what had just happened. A mixture of laughter and sobs escaped his lips.
A glint caught his eye. Devarn had stumbled upon something strange hidden amidst the tall grass. His eyes widened with wonder as he saw a fallen Oru standing motionless like a forgotten sentinel of the forest. Its hulking metal frame had patches of rust, giving it a mysterious and ancient look. Both hands were like armored gauntlets, each as big as Devarn was tall.
Unable to resist the urge to investigate further, Devarn prodded the Oru with a stick. His whole body tensed. The silence that followed was both unnerving and intriguing. As if the forest itself held its breath, waiting for the ancient machine to awaken.
“Hey, Mr. Oru, are you awake?” Devarn asked. But the Oru remained still, unresponsive to his prodding. Undeterred, Devarn’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. Devarn swung his stick with all his might, aiming for the Oru’s metallic body. The blow collided with a resounding thud and an explosion of splinters, but the Oru remained dormant as if lost in a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Aww, come on! Wake up!” Devarn pouted. Deep in thought, he sat back on his heels as lost memories flooded his mind. He recalled the day of his great uncle’s funeral when he first saw an Oru. It stood there, silent and solemn, a quiet observer of the ebb and flow of life. Father had whispered that the Oru appeared at every birth and death, symbolizing the circle of existence.
With a sigh, Devarn discarded the stick, its purpose of awakening the Oru abandoned. He reached toward the robot’s rusted surface, feeling the metal’s coolness against his fingertips. “Maybe it’s okay if you’re asleep for now, Mr. Oru,” he whispered. “Sometimes I wish I could sleep for a long time too.”
Devarn slumped against the silent Oru, his tears flowing like a river he couldn’t dam. They fell, pitter-pattering on the rusty metal, as he tried to quiet the sobs shaking his small frame. It all felt so unfair. His emotions were like a knot tightening in his chest that wouldn’t let go.
“Why... why can’t I be like everyone else?” he whispered between hiccups, his voice trembling with sadness. “I just want to summon a dumb spirit animal. Why does it have to be so hard?”
Devarn held himself tightly for comfort, the fabric of his leaf clothing crinkling under his desperate grasp. The pain of not fitting in, of being taunted and mocked, weighed heavy on his young shoulders. Everyone had their role in the village, all working in unison for the good of all. They looked at Devarn like he wasn’t even a person. Without his spirit animal, different from the others, Devarn would be destined to always be on the outside. It felt like the whole world was against him, and he didn't know how to make it right.
The Oru’s cold touch offered a strange reassurance. Devarn imagined that maybe the ancient robot understood, even without saying a word. It stood there, a silent companion in his sorrow, and he took solace in its presence. No one had listened to him like this before.
“I just want to belong,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I want them to see that I'm not cursed or different. Why don’t they like me?” Leaning his head against the sturdy metal, Devarn let his tears fall freely. “Why don’t they like me?” Despite his outburst, the weight of his emotions began to ease, little by little, as if the Oru was sharing his burden.
Then came the sound of shattering thunder. The surprise knocked Devarn off his feet. With a clattering whirr, the Oru’s eyes glowed red. It was awake.
Devarn wasn’t sure what made today any different. Klybb and the other kids taunted him often, but Devarn couldn’t take it anymore.
A new card game brought over by the Larrik traders caught everyone's attention, and Devarn found it fascinating. He hadn’t seen such a fun-looking game before. Nanna even gave him a deck to join in, but they refused to let him play. Just like they always did.
All Babbumatta have a spirit animal born of nature, but Devarn didn’t have one. No matter how hard he strained and tried, he couldn’t summon them. He even tried outside of the special ceremony but to no avail. Not even Elder Blyssa held the answer. Nanna said he was just a late bloomer and told him to be patient. That excuse only carried Devarn so far.
“You’re cursed!” said Klybb as the others laughed. “Even the spirits know it.” They’d all formed a circle around Devarn for their taunts and jeers. Klybb gave a smirk. “Careful not to get too close, everyone, or you’ll get cursed too!”
“It’s not my fault,” stammered Devarn, fighting the urge to curl up and cry.
“Stop it, Kylbb.” All eyes turned to Wylla. Devarn had always liked Wylla, even if she did hang out with Kylbb and the others. He thought her dark eyes were pretty. She was cradling her spirit animal in her hands - a frog with an acorn on its head and a tiny tree sprouting from its back.
Klybb’s sneer faltered momentarily, but he quickly regained his bravado. “What’s a Babbumatta without a spirit animal?” Klybb let the question hang while his bush-like cat brushed against his leg. “You’re nothing, Devarn. Nothing. Everyone would be better off without you.”
Wylla’s eyes were full of pity as if she were staring at some pathetic injured animal. Devarn had never been so angry. The whole world was nothing but rage. With a primal scream, Devarn charged Klybb and pushed them both into a jumbled heap. Gasps filled the air as the other children watched, their eyes wide. Their stares threatened to lock Devarn in place. Before they could stop him, all Devarn could think to do was run.
Devarn finally stopped to catch his breath. They’d really think he’s cursed now. Only someone cursed would do something so evil and violent. It wasn’t the Babbumatta way. Maybe he wasn’t Babbumatta at all. That would explain why the spirits abandoned him.
The village built into the tree canopies loomed beyond the horizon. Rae’thi village was all he’d known. The web of wooden walkways between the colossal trees. Hundreds of thatched houses nestled into the branches. How each Babbumatta milled about their assigned jobs without complaint. The way the lanterns cast their warm, golden glow as the day’s light waned. Devarn swore he’d never go back.
He lost track of time as he continued forward. Devarn had never been this far before. Enormous ferns of emerald green lined the undergrowth, their feathery fronds reaching out toward him. Wildflowers of every hue peaked from the green. Towering trees like gnarled pillars pierced skyward. Their branches could almost touch Mount Puntu, which loomed high in the distance, poking beyond the canopy.
Just then, a sneaky root caught his foot, and his world spun out of control. Hurtling down a hill, his body bounced and rolled, limbs flailing in every direction. He let out a mixture of yelps, laughter, and even a whimper as the ground seemed to conspire against him. Twigs snagged his leaf clothing, pulling him deeper into the chaos of his unplanned descent.
Leaves brushed against his face like ticklish whispers, and dirt smeared across his skin, turning him into a wild, muddy mess. His once sure steps were now a dizzying dance of stumbles and tumbles, the world spinning around him in a reeling whirlwind of confusion.
Finally, with one last thud and a cloud of dust, Devarn stopped at the bottom of the hill, dizzy and disoriented. He lay there momentarily, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to understand what had just happened. A mixture of laughter and sobs escaped his lips.
A glint caught his eye. Devarn had stumbled upon something strange hidden amidst the tall grass. His eyes widened with wonder as he saw a fallen Oru standing motionless like a forgotten sentinel of the forest. Its hulking metal frame had patches of rust, giving it a mysterious and ancient look. Both hands were like armored gauntlets, each as big as Devarn was tall.
Unable to resist the urge to investigate further, Devarn prodded the Oru with a stick. His whole body tensed. The silence that followed was both unnerving and intriguing. As if the forest itself held its breath, waiting for the ancient machine to awaken.
“Hey, Mr. Oru, are you awake?” Devarn asked. But the Oru remained still, unresponsive to his prodding. Undeterred, Devarn’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. Devarn swung his stick with all his might, aiming for the Oru’s metallic body. The blow collided with a resounding thud and an explosion of splinters, but the Oru remained dormant as if lost in a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Aww, come on! Wake up!” Devarn pouted. Deep in thought, he sat back on his heels as lost memories flooded his mind. He recalled the day of his great uncle’s funeral when he first saw an Oru. It stood there, silent and solemn, a quiet observer of the ebb and flow of life. Father had whispered that the Oru appeared at every birth and death, symbolizing the circle of existence.
With a sigh, Devarn discarded the stick, its purpose of awakening the Oru abandoned. He reached toward the robot’s rusted surface, feeling the metal’s coolness against his fingertips. “Maybe it’s okay if you’re asleep for now, Mr. Oru,” he whispered. “Sometimes I wish I could sleep for a long time too.”
Devarn slumped against the silent Oru, his tears flowing like a river he couldn’t dam. They fell, pitter-pattering on the rusty metal, as he tried to quiet the sobs shaking his small frame. It all felt so unfair. His emotions were like a knot tightening in his chest that wouldn’t let go.
“Why... why can’t I be like everyone else?” he whispered between hiccups, his voice trembling with sadness. “I just want to summon a dumb spirit animal. Why does it have to be so hard?”
Devarn held himself tightly for comfort, the fabric of his leaf clothing crinkling under his desperate grasp. The pain of not fitting in, of being taunted and mocked, weighed heavy on his young shoulders. Everyone had their role in the village, all working in unison for the good of all. They looked at Devarn like he wasn’t even a person. Without his spirit animal, different from the others, Devarn would be destined to always be on the outside. It felt like the whole world was against him, and he didn't know how to make it right.
The Oru’s cold touch offered a strange reassurance. Devarn imagined that maybe the ancient robot understood, even without saying a word. It stood there, a silent companion in his sorrow, and he took solace in its presence. No one had listened to him like this before.
“I just want to belong,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I want them to see that I'm not cursed or different. Why don’t they like me?” Leaning his head against the sturdy metal, Devarn let his tears fall freely. “Why don’t they like me?” Despite his outburst, the weight of his emotions began to ease, little by little, as if the Oru was sharing his burden.
Then came the sound of shattering thunder. The surprise knocked Devarn off his feet. With a clattering whirr, the Oru’s eyes glowed red. It was awake.
