We met in camp for Naked Wednesday and started with our usual ritual bath. Afterward we headed back, relaxed and comfortable, and settled in together.
The shaman began a story and everyone added a little part. It turned into something surprisingly good… “The Story Beneath the Roots”. More thoughtful than naughty this time, but a really nice way to end the evening together.
The Story Beneath the Roots
Long before the first Seeker arrived, the jungle hid a secret beneath the roots of the tallest tree. Its trunk rose vast and heavy, not reaching toward the sky, but pressing downward, as if all its strength existed to hold something sealed below. Those who passed felt awe stir in them, though none could say why.
Between the roots there was a glow — not fire, but a slow, steady pulse, like the breathing of the earth itself. The gods had not sent it as a gift. It was something that had to be guarded.
Few noticed it. Fewer dared approach.
One day, a small boy came digging for roots that made colors. He found the great tree by chance and saw the light beneath it. Though curiosity pulled him closer, he did not touch it. Day after day he returned, standing in reverent silence, wondering about the glow that looked almost like part of a buried sphere.
Months passed. Whole moons turned.
At times he held his hand above the light, close enough to feel its warmth, yet never daring to make contact. He sensed that this was not something to be taken by force. The secret would only reveal itself when approached with care.
One evening, his courage wavered. His fingers drifted nearer. Heat surged through his hand, sharp and burning. Fear struck him and he fled, believing himself cursed. That night he returned in prayer, asking only for peace.
The glow answered.
The heat softened into warmth. The light clarified, revealing a great sphere of living stone, veined with brightness like roots turned inside out. It was a fragment of the sky itself — fallen when the gods still walked close to the earth. It carried memory, power, and hunger all at once.
From that day on, the boy felt changed. He moved lightly through the jungle, singing to birds, scolding jaguars, feeling the forest answer him as if it recognized him. When he returned to the tree, the sphere had shifted in color, gentler now.
At last, he pressed his hand to the bark of the tree.
The roots loosened.
The sphere pulsed — and transformed.
Wings unfurled from the light, and from it emerged a radiant girl, glowing softly as she hovered before him. She placed her hand on his bare chest and smiled.
“You were careful,” she said. “You touched the tree before you touched me. You waited until I was ready.”
Overwhelmed, the boy fell back, speechless. She drew him up gently and held him.
“You are one of the few the gods trust,” she whispered. “To care for the earth. To guide others gently but firmly. To live in balance with all that grows and breathes.”
She rested her hand on his head.
“I grant you not one life, but nine.”
Light flashed — zasss — and where the boy stood, a cat blinked beneath the great tree, eyes shining with ancient knowing.
And so the jungle kept its secret — though sometimes, if you watch closely, a cat sits quietly at the roots of the tallest tree, listening to the earth breathe.