“Do you think the Word made this tree?” she asked Pick suddenly.
The sylvan shrugged. “I suppose, so.”
“Because the Word made everything, right?” She paused. “What does the Word look like?”
Pick looked at her.
“Is the Word the same as God, do you think?”
Pick looked at her some more.
“Well, you don’t think there’s more than one God, do you?”, Nest began to rush her words. “I mean, you don’t think that the Word and God and Mother Nature are all different beings? You don’t think they’re all running around making different things-like God makes humans and the Word makes forest creatures and Mother Nature makes trees? Or that Allah is responsible for one race and one part of the world and Buddha is responsible for some others? You don’t think that, do you?”
Pick stared.
“Because all these different countries and all these different races have their own version of God. Their religions teach j them who their God is and what He believes. Sometimes the I different versions even hold similar beliefs. But no one can agree on whose God is the real God. Everyone insists that everyone else is wrong. But unless there is more than one God, what difference does it make? If there’s only one God and He made everything, then what is the point of arguing over whether to call Him God or the Word or whatever? It’s like arguing over who owns the park. The park is for everyone.”
“Are you having some sort of identity crisis?” Pick asked solemnly.
“No. I just want to know what you believe.”
Pick sighed. “I believe creatures like me are thoroughly misunderstood and grossly underappreciated. I also believe it doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“It matters to me.”
Pick shrugged.
Nest stared at her feet. “I think you are being unreasonable.”
“What is the point of this conversation?” Pick demanded irritably.
“The point is, I want to know who made me.” Nest took a deep breath to steady herself. “I want to know just that one thing. Because I’m sick and tired of being different and not knowing why. The tree and I are alike in a way. The tree is not what it seems. It might have grown from a seedling a long, long time ago, but it’s been infused with magic that imprisons the maentwrog. Who made it that way? Who decided? The Word or God or Mother Nature? So then I think, What about me? Who made me? I’m not like anyone else, am I? I’m a human, but I can do magic.! can see the feeders when no one else can. I know about this other world, this world that you come from, that no one else knows about. Don’t you get it? I’m just like that tree, a part of two worlds and two lives-but I don’t feel like I really belong in either one.”
She took him off her shoulder and held him in the palm of her hand, close to her face. “Look at me, Pick. I don’t like being confused like this. I don’t like feeling like I don’t belong. People look at me funny; even if they don’t know for sure, they sense I’m not like them. Even my friends. I try not to let it bother me, but it does sometimes. Like right now.” She felt the tears start, and she forced them down. “So, you know, it might help if I knew something about myself, even if it was just that I was right about God and the Word being the same. Even if it was only that, so I could know that I’m not parts of different things slapped together, not something totally weird, but that I was made whole and complete to be just the way I am!”
Pick looked uncomfortable. “Criminy, Nest, I don’t have any special insight into how people get made. You don’t seem weird to me, but I’m a sylvan, so maybe my opinion doesn’t count.”
She tightened her mouth. “Maybe it counts for more than you think.”
He gave an elaborate sigh, tugged momentarily on his mossy beard, and fixed her with his fierce gaze. “I don’t like these kinds of conversations, so let’s dispense with the niceties. You pay attention to me. You asked if I believe God and the Word are the same. I do. You can call the Word by any name you choose-God, Mohammed, Buddha, Mother Nature, or Daniel the Owl; it doesn’t change anything. They’re all one, and that one made everything, you included. So I wouldn’t give much credence to the possibility that you were slapped together and modified along the way by a handful of dissatisfied deities. I don’t know why you turned out the way you did, but I’m pretty sure it was done for a reason and that you were made all of a piece.”