Interview with Alexandra Knickel
News for May
Dryad in Watercolor
by Erica Liszewski
They had lied to her. "Sit," they had said. "Just sit here and wait. It will come to you." So she had sat, and waited. And true enough, he did come to her. In all his dazzling white beauty, with an ivory horn bright upon it's forehead. He knelt beside her, and she had stroked his shining fur. And he had laid his head in her lap and slept. Then arrows had pierced his white hide, covering his fur with rivers of crimson. And then they returned, the men who had told her to wait in the field. They smiled and laughed at their good fortune. They came, and they tried to take him from her. She had screamed at them. Her arms wrapped around his lifeless neck, she had cried. When the men tried to approach her she wailed like a banshee until they retreated. They weren't smiling anymore. Eventually they left her alone. For a time they returned and tried to speak with her, but she soon forgot the meaning behind their words. She stroked the white fur until it turned to dust. She wept until her tears pooled around her in a shimmering lake. Her roots sank deep in the earth, and the wind fluttered her arching boughs.
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