Under the weeping branches of the great Phigienohr sat a figure in quiet repose. What they were contemplating, who could say but them. Such was their focus, however, that an observer might have understandably mistaken them for a statue, or perhaps a gnarled outgrowth of the cypress tree itself.

The latter was in fact not so far from the truth – if one were there to ask them, and if they were roused to answer, they would have replied, “Phigienohr.” Of course, should they have been caught crossing the river Igdeasis instead, its current winding around their bony frame, they would have replied, “Igdeasis.” For they had every name and no name, existing in the liminal space between self and non-self.

These names had no meaning to any other than them, for only they remembered that Phigienohr was Phigienohr and Igdeasis was Igdeasis. Incidentally, the names had little meaning to them either, for Phigienohr and Igdeasis (and Dotierin and Virdidos and every other nameable thing) were like the refractions of sunlight through a prism. Each had its own distinct color, but fundamentally they were all of a singular essence and emanated from a singular source. Yet, so long as the prism of the ascetic’s mind remained tethered to their body, they could not unbend the world to observe it as it truly was, and so they remembered the names anyway.

To outsiders of the grove, however, they were known simply as Lapin, given their tall, upright ears and their gracefully long legs – and indeed that was their name also.

“Lapin!” A voice pierced the gentle breeze swirling around them, causing one of their pricked ears to twitch. Their ancient, rheumy eyes slowly opened, though they saw no more than they did closed – blindness had long since claimed them. Still, they perceived the intruders—for the speaker was not alone—through their ears and nose and tongue and fingertips and many other sense organs that all but them had forgotten after eons of disuse.

When Lapin did not reply, the voice grew louder and more strident. There was the shck of a sword being unsheathed from its scabbard, an unnatural sound but one long familiar to them. “Lapin! Yield this land in the name of His Majesty, King Justis the Beneficent, or suffer the fury of my blade!”

“It is not mine to yield, nor yours to take,” Lapin answered shortly. They wrinkled their nose – it displeased them to use their voice, but they knew that these creatures could not understand any of the beautiful, unspoken languages that they had so painstakingly learned.

Through blades of grass they felt the shape of the intruder, their chest throbbing in pain with each stalk crushed underfoot. Displeasure gave way to anger, but Lapin remained motionless, directing their mind’s eye to Phigienohr behind them. The mighty tree said nothing, apparently unperturbed by the unwelcome visitor in his midst. Lapin then calmed their racing heart, as they were also Phigienohr and thus had no reason to be perturbed either.

“All lands are His Majesty’s lands,” the man growled. “In his boundless generosity, our king has given you permission to keep your life should you leave peacefully. If you refuse, however, I will be forced to strike you down.”

Lapin’s cracked lips curved into the subtlest of frowns. “As a river cannot reverse its flow, nor a mountain flatten itself against the earth, neither can I leave this grove. For it is me and I am it. I can forgive your trespass, but you and the others lurking in the woods yonder”—they gestured to the tree line twenty paces away—“must go now and return not to this place.”

The man suddenly guffawed, startling the birds hidden within the foliage above. A mother robin’s nest, which had been safely cradled in Phigienohr’s arms for many months, slipped out of his embrace and crashed to the ground as she fled. Her baby-blue eggs shattered – the melting of their slimy yolks into the earth caused Lapin to shudder.

“Those large ears of yours must not be for show, if you can hear my men behind me,” he chortled. “But what can you possibly do, ancient one? We outnumber you ten to one!”

“Is that so?”

The man’s voice darkened. “Have it your way, you old fool. But as you draw your final breath, remember that this death is a death you chose.” He called out to his band with a loud whoop. “Soldiers, kill this man!”

Without another word, he charged forward, metal armor clanging and sword aloft as he prepared to strike them down. He didn’t make it three steps. For Lapin was Phigienohr and he was them, and as their essences fully entwined, the stoic needed only to stretch out their limbs and encircle the intruder’s body with their leaf-bedecked arms. Lapin squeezed – the man let out a sharp cry as his bones shattered, then slumped over, lifeless.

The others froze in their tracks just as they were beginning to break cover. They looked among themselves, unsure of how to proceed against an adversary who could command the very trees. It was deathly silent, so quiet that even Lapin’s sensitive ears could only pick up the slight ripples of air currents around them.

Then they closed their eyes, and the grove erupted into chaos.

All manner of beasts suddenly emerged from hiding and began to attack. Their claws were Lapin’s claws, their talons Lapin’s talons, their teeth Lapin’s teeth. Two of the soldiers barely had time to raise their swords to defend themselves as they were each beset by a tiger – and in unison, Melake and Melaka sank their fangs into the mens’ necks, killing them instantly. An archer, still concealed among the trees, nocked an arrow and raised his bow to fire, but before he could draw the bowstring back, a cloud of black wasps engulfed his head and stung at him again and again. He lost his balance and fell from his perch, and was then immediately descended upon by a family of wolves.

Seeing how their fellows were so quickly slain, the remaining soldiers turned on their heels and tried to escape. But Lapin was not so forgiving – their party had exhausted their one chance at mercy. Roots sprung up from the earth to trip them as they ran as the underbrush grew thicker and denser, forming an impenetrable wall. A flock of crows, fifty strong, flew down to slash at their faces and peck at their eyes. Fire ants slipped beneath their clothes and set their entire bodies ablaze with pain. Deer trampled them underhoof.

All the while, Lapin remained seated beneath the tree as the mens’ screams were silenced one by one. And then the battle was over.

Letting out the smallest of sighs, they retreated back into their body and reinstated the boundaries between self and non-self, such as they were. Melake and Melaka retreated back into the copse, insects and birds returned to their nests, tree roots sank back into their beds underground.

There was a new presence in their midst, however – the corpses of the men who so violently desecrated them. They were foreign, unpleasant. But Lapin did not allow the sensation to perturb them for long, for their bodies would gradually be subsumed by the grove. Even the metal of their weapons and armor would rust and crumble in the centuries to come. Eventually these too would become extensions of their being and scarcely noticed, just as they scarcely noticed the remnants of countless other battles stretching back countless years.

Lapin then resumed their quiet contemplation of things known only to them, as they would until time’s arrow finally came to rest – when all would become as one once again.