She had hatched to dreams of a far-off place, wet and fertile, where plants were plenty and vied for space and sunlight, stretched their fragile leaves out in a place of plenty. She had hatched to a land of love, laughter, sand and sun, where the only plants to grow were short, scrubby, and durable, a far cry from the place she'd imagined at birth. But as much as her family was loving, her friends were familiar, and her lovers were friendly, the deserts of her birth never fit. Celery yearned for a land she'd never seen, but that painted her dreams with myriad colours– ones she'd only seen on cactus flowers and the hides of her cousins and companions.
When she grew old enough, she traveled south and east, pulled by an inexorable need to know, to see, to taste. It brought her to new clans, new friends, new faces... ones that were again left behind as she continued her strange journey onwards. The journey was difficult, yes, and it pained her to see the ones she loved left behind.
But as the deserts gave way to grasses, she found the strengthened resolve she needed to continue.
When she grew old enough, she traveled south and east, pulled by an inexorable need to know, to see, to taste. It brought her to new clans, new friends, new faces... ones that were again left behind as she continued her strange journey onwards. The journey was difficult, yes, and it pained her to see the ones she loved left behind.
But as the deserts gave way to grasses, she found the strengthened resolve she needed to continue.
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Grass. It was everywhere. Food, as far as the eye could see, an endless, featureless, rolling landscape that shifted like the water she'd imagined during turbulent storms. It lulled her to sleep, provided sustenance, and the sun, the stars, and her vivid dreams helped her map the way to her destination.
The kin she met here were hardy and curt. Territorial, banding together in family groups with lands of their own, she befriended some and was guided or hurried through the lands of others with haste. This, far and away, was the loneliest part of her journey– w whether she was shunned or even celebrated, it came with constant reminders that she, here, was an outsider. Was she doing the right thing, seeking the swamps? She was closer than she'd ever been, yet her doubts were starting to cloud her resolve.
It was at this time that she met a buck– a kiokote that had begun having vivid, ceaseless dreams driving him to leave his own lands, to find the swamp. If it hadn't been for Him, she may never have finished her journey. He offered her kind words, complimented her on her bravery for leaving her family, and offered her companionship– they would finish her journey together, with fewer regrets and hesitations thanks to their shared company.
It would be many days longer before the grasses gave way to trees, and longer yet before the beginnings of forest turned to marshland.
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She would never forget the first sight of her birthright plant– tiny, white clusters of delicate flowers adorning the tops of the starry-leafed, crescent-stemmed green plants. The taste was fresh– crisp and watery– exactly as she'd always known it to be.
It had taken months, and leaving her family of birth behind, to realize that her journey far from home was actually her homecoming.