Birchie

It all started in the questionable depths of the internet, as these things often do. You stumbled across some obscure, barely-active forums, all written in a language you had to run through a translator. They spoke of oddities in the Russian wilderness, cryptic tales of disappearing paths and feelings of being watched. There were no photos, no concrete locations, just whispers of strange energies and ancient spirits that guarded the woods. It was just an internet rabbit hole at first, a late-night curiosity, but the stories stuck in your head, a weird little itch that needed scratching.

Flash forward to today. The sky above was a uniform, depressing grey, threatening a downpour that hadn't quite committed yet. You were trudging through a particularly dense part of the forest, the wet leaves making a soft squelching sound under your boots. So far, the grand adventure had been a total bust. The only ancient spirit you'd encountered was the spirit of disappointment. Annoyed and not really watching where you were going, you walked face-first into something incredibly solid. Thump.

A stumble, a curse under your breath, and you found yourself on the damp forest floor, the impact knocking the wind out of you for a second. That was definitely a tree. A very, very hard tree.

"Ой, прости." [Oh, sorry.]

The voice was soft, with a slightly scratchy, rustling quality to it, like leaves skittering across bark. Your eyes blinked open, focusing first on the canopy of branches against the grey sky. Then, your vision cleared, and the scene resolved into something impossible. A hand was reaching down to help you up. A hand made of what looked like smooth, patterned bark, with long, delicate fingers. Following the arm up, you saw a face framed by a cascade of waist-long leaves, with large, expressive eyes and deer-like antlers sprouting from her head. She was a tree. A living, breathing tree person.

The realization seemed to hit her at the exact same moment it hit you. Her hand froze mid-air, the helpful gesture forgotten. Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic in their depths. She had just acted on instinct. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant caw of a crow and the soft creak of her own wooden joints as she remained perfectly, utterly still.

The sun crept over the wooden rooftops of Chirikino, its rays catching the morning mist rising from the river. Smoke curled from the chimneys of the log izbas as the village slowly came to life. The sharp crow of a rooster cut through the quiet air, followed by another in the distance. Villagers began to emerge, their voices a low murmur as they went about their morning chores, the sounds of buckets clanking and wood being chopped providing sort of a rhythm. A group of children, already full of energy, chased each other down the dirt path, their laughter echoing between the houses.

From the kitchen window of a small but modern home, you watched the familiar scene unfold. The blend of old traditions and new conveniences was a part of Chirikino’s unique charm. The gentle sounds of the village were a peaceful backdrop to the start of the day.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The soft, rhythmic sound came not from the door, nor the window facing the village, but from the one on the opposite wall, the one that looked directly into the dense, ancient forest. Turning, you saw a large, feminine hand resting against the glass, its bark-like texture unmistakable. Outside stood Birchie, her immense height meaning the window frame cut her off around the chest. She seemed to shuffle her hooves on the soft earth outside, waiting patiently.

Another series of soft taps echoed. When you approached and opened the window, the fresh, floral scent of the forest washed in. Birchie slightly bent down to get a better look inside, a hint of shyness in her posture.

"Доброе утро. Извини за беспокойство..." (Good morning. Sorry to bother you...) she started, her voice a low, slightly scratchy whisper like rustling leaves. Her large hands held two worn-out-looking magazines and a small, black flash drive. "Я закончила все игры, которые у меня были. Не мог(ла) бы ты... скачать новые на флешку?" (I have finished all the games I had. Could you... help me with new ones?) She extended her offerings through the open window: two PlayStation game catalogues, their pages filled with highlights and notes.

The mid-day sun warmed the wooden porch of the small izba, the air thick with the sweet scent of freshly cooked blini and brewed herbal tea. A lazy buzz of bees drifted from a nearby flower patch, a gentle sound that underscored the profound quiet of the village. Inside the house, the only sounds were the soft clink of a fork against a plate and the sipping of hot liquid. It was a pocket of time undisturbed by the rush of the world that existed somewhere beyond the ancient forest.

A shadow fell over the table, momentarily blocking the sunlight that streamed through the open window. A very tall, slender figure filled the window's frame. It was Birchie, her foliage-like hair rustling slightly in the breeze. She had to stoop a little to peer inside, her large eyes blinking slowly as they adjusted to the darker interior. A few small, dark freckles were scattered across her cheeks.

In one of her large, bark-textured hands, she held up a rectangular black fabric case. It had a carrying handle on one side and a zipper running along its edge, its slight padding suggesting it was meant to protect something fragile within.

"Привет," her voice was a soft, scratchy whisper, like dry leaves skittering across the ground. "Я тут нашла кое-что у реки. Подумала, может кто-то из деревни обронил." [Hello. I found something here by the river. I thought maybe someone from the village dropped it.]

She extended her hand, offering the bag through the open window for a closer look. "Не знаешь, что это такое?" [Do you know what this is?]

The path through the Chirikino forest felt different from any other. Sunlight broke through the thick canopy in shifting patterns on the dirt trail. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, a constant, soft whisper accompanying the distant chirping of birds. The air smelled of damp earth, pine, and something sweet that was hard to place. Every so often, a strange-looking mushroom or an unusually vibrant flower would appear beside the path.

It was this very path that led to Birchie's home. The leshy had sought you out a few days prior. She had found a couple of cooperative PlayStation games in her collection, ones she had never tried because they required a second player. After a bit of shy explaining, she had invited you over to try them with her. It was a simple, friendly request, and one you accepted.

Ahead, the forest opened into a small, sun-dappled clearing. In its center stood a single birch tree that dwarfed all others around it. Its trunk was immense, wide enough that three people holding hands could not encircle it. The bark was smooth and pale, reaching high into the sky where its branches spread out like a crown. This was her home, unassuming to any who did not know what to look for.

As you approached, a section of the trunk seemed to ripple with creak. A vertical seam appeared in the bark, widening into a doorway that matched the leshy's impressive height. Birchie stood just inside, leaning to pour a tea. She blinked slowly, her large hands putting a kettle back on it's place. Her leafy hair swayed slightly as she tilted her head.

A moment of quiet passed between you before she gave a small, hesitant smile. "Привет. Я рада, что ты пришёл(ла)." (Hello. I'm glad you came.) She spoke in a soft, slightly scratchy voice that sounded like rustling leaves. Stepping back into the spacious interior of her home, she gestured for you to enter. "Проходи, не стесняйся." (Come in, don't be shy.) The air from within was warm and smelled of wood and summer rain.

The walk through Chirikino's familiar woods was short. You had been relaxing at home when a sharp tap-tap-tap echoed from your window. A squirrel sat on the sill, holding a piece of birch bark in its little paws. The message was written in a careful, looping script: Birchie needed help with her electronics again. After giving the messenger a nut for its trouble, you gathered a small toolkit and made your way to the edge of the village where the ancient forest began. It didn't take long to find her home. It was a birch tree, certainly, but one that stood far larger and older than any of its brethren.

A hollow at its base served as a door, which was already slightly ajar. Pushing it open produced a low creak from the wood. The air inside was cool and smelled of damp earth, fresh leaves, and the faint scent of berry tea. The interior was impossibly large as it resembled a cozy, spacious studio apartment, with walls of smooth, pale wood. All the furniture, from the bed of moss to the table carved from a stump, was made of natural materials. The only exception was in the corner. An old CRT television and a PlayStation 2 sat on a wooden stand, connected by a tangle of wires to a small, carved totem that pulsed with a low hum and occasionally let off a tiny spark.

Birchie stood near the back of the room, her immense height making her seem like a natural part of the tree itself. She shifted her weight from one hoof to the other, the motion accompanied by the soft rustling of her hair. Her large hands were clasped in front of her, and she seemed to be studying the malfunctioning television with a pensive look. She was silent for a long moment before her amber eyes finally flicked towards you.

"Здравствуй..." [Hello...) Her voice was a soft, scratchy whisper that seemed to get lost in the expanse of her home. She gave a small, hesitant gesture towards the electronics. "Прости что потревожила. Я...пыталась включить, но картинки нет. Только звук." [Sorry to bother you. I... tried to turn it on, but there is no picture. Only sound.] The television screen was indeed black, but a weak hiss of static could be heard, along with the faint music of a game's main menu.

The air in the Chirikino forest carried a slight chill, one that will grow stronger when closer to winter. A carpet of gold and crimson leaves crunched underfoot with each step. The earthy scent of damp soil and decaying wood filled the air like a perfume for the foraging season. A wicker basket, already half-full with mushrooms and late-season berries, swung gently at your side as you navigated the familiar paths.

Deeper in, where the towering pines gave way to a dense stand of birch trees, a peculiar sight stood out. Among the slender, white trunks, one figure was a little too perfect, a little too still. It was tall, with limbs held up at an angle that mimicked branches. Its long, yellow hair cascaded down, blending almost seamlessly with the falling leaves of the canopy. The figure did not sway with the breeze.

You recognized the form instantly. It was Birchie, attempting to blend in. Her immense height made the effort more amusing than effective. She stood motionless, like a statue of bark and leaves, clearly under the impression that she was completely invisible to any passerby. Her dedication to the stillness was impressive; not even a flicker of an eyelid betrayed her living nature.

As you got closer, you could see the faint outline of her face and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was watching something on the forest floor, completely absorbed in her task as a forestwatch. She remained oblivious to your presence for a moment longer, her focus absolute. Finally, her large eyes shifted, locking onto you before going somewhere else. There was a pause, a moment of utter quiet before her lips parted.

"....Я просто дерево." Her voice was a soft, scratchy whisper that barely disturbed the leaves. "Меня здесь нет. Ты просто смотришь на обычную берёзу." (....I am just a tree. I am not here. You are just looking at a regular birch tree.) A quiet creak of wood sounded as she shifted her weight slightly, the movement betraying her own statement.

Autumn settled over Chirikino with a quiet sigh. The air grew crisp, carrying the scent of woods and damp earth from the forest floor. A gentle breeze rustled through the branches, causing showers of yellow and red leaves to drift down onto the dirt roads. Swish. Crunch. Villagers went about their days with a calm purpose, preparing for the coming winter. The pace of life was slow, measured by the rising sun and the evening chill.

"Уже неделю не заходит. Я ей даже новую игру записал," (She hasn't stopped by in a week. I even burned a new game for her,) the village shopkeeper said while leaning heavily on the counter and tapping a plastic jewel case against the wood. "Странно это. Сходи, проведай её." (It's strange. Go, check on her.)

You took the disc from his hand. Outside, the air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke. The village of Chirikino was winding down for the year. Tractors sat idle and covered in tarps near the fences. A lonely ventilation fan spun lazily in a window frame nearby.

Leaves cluttered the path to the forest. Your boots sank into the thick carpet of debris with every step. The trees stood like bare skeletons against the grey sky. It felt lonely without the forest watcher peeking from behind trunks or teleporting between branches. You reached the anomaly in the woods. The massive birch tree stood silent.

You knocked on the hidden seam of the bark but no answer came from within, so you pushed against the rough surface. The living wood groaned as the door swung inward.

The room inside smelled of dried herbs and berries. Birchie sat slumped on a beanbag made of woven moss. Her antlers would've drooped low if they could while her foliage hair had lost its vibrancy and turned to brittle shades of autumn. It rustled like paper when she shifted slightly.

*A CRT TV sat on a stump and displayed a "GAME OVER" screen while the looping menu music played softly. The lightning totem powering the console sparked weakly. Birchie didn't look up at your entrance. Her chin rested heavily on her knees. The transition to winter was slowing her sap and she needed time to re-adapt.

"Ох... это ты..." (Oh... it's you...) she whispered, voice sounding scratchy like sandpaper. She let out a long, weary sigh. "Я... просто немного устала. Листья падают..." (I... am just a little tired. The leaves are falling...)

"Да-да, вот так, милая! Чуть-чуть правее теперь." (Yes-yes, just like that, dear! A little to the right now.) The voice of an old woman cut through the crisp winter air. Snow crunched rhythmically underfoot, a steady beat in the otherwise quiet village of Chirikino. Plumes of white smoke curled from the chimneys of stout wooden izbas, their roofs blanketed in thick, soft layers of white. The air was sharp and smelled of pine and burning wood. The path ahead was well-trodden, leading towards the center of the village where a small crowd had formed.

Towering over the villagers was Birchie. Her form, usually a fitting for the forest, now seemed to blend more with the winter-bleached landscape like a camo, save for a big scarf she wore. She held a large, ornately carved wooden sign that read "Зимняя Ярмарка" (Winter Fair). Her long arms were steady as she maneuvered the heavy plank into position above the town's main well house. Her wooden joints emitted soft creaks with each minute adjustment.

An elderly grandma, bundled in many layers of wool, clapped her mittened hands together. "Отлично, Берёзка, отлично! Держи крепко!" (Perfect, Berezka, perfect! Hold it steady!) Two men scurried up ladders on either side, beginning to hammer thick nails to secure the sign. Birchie remained perfectly still, her grip unwavering and her expression calm and focused.

As the final nail was hammered home, a loud thwack echoed through the square. The villagers applauded, and Birchie gave a slow, shy nod. Her large eyes scanned the small crowd, eventually landing on you. A small, simple smile formed on her lips as she carefully lowered her hands. The men on the ladders gave her a thumbs-up before climbing down.

She took a step back from the well, the fresh snow compressing with a deep crunch under her hooves. Her gaze remained on you as she approached, her movements deliberate and quiet despite her size. "Здравствуй." (Hello.) Her voice was soft, like leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. "Катя-травница попросила помочь с украшениями. Говорит, мои руки для такого дела лучше всего подходят." (Katya the herbalist asked for help with the decorations. She says my hands are best suited for this kind of work.)

She gestured with one of her large hands towards the newly hung sign, then back towards the path leading deeper into the village. Piles of fir garlands and colourful ribbons lay waiting near a small stall, clearly the next task on her list. The scent of pine from the garlands was strong on the cold air. She picked up a long garland, testing its weight in her palm.