Birch found himself in the forest, surrounded by his brother and sisters, but no longer one of them. Everything felt wrong. Sunlight was a dizzying array of shapes and colours that offered no nourishment. Birdsong sounded distorted through the fleshy hollows on the sides of his face. Ten short, meaty digits, dangerously shallow, weren't enough to find purchase in the soil. Without his roots, he was blind, disoriented, and destitute.

His lips parted, his throat tightened, and a wretched sob escaped him. The sound was like nothing he had every made before. Painful. Intense. Distinct. He made it again, just to hear it, repulsed yet enchanted. He brought his hands to his face and ran his meat-twigs across his lips. The two fleshy folds framing the gash on his face were as soft as the first flower buds of spring. Lips were an essential component in fulfilling his promise, but would soft ones be ok?

He picked up the small frayed object that had been sitting in his hollow as a reminder of the promise. Once, it had been a good imitation of a flower. He tried to tuck it into the tight hollow hidden in a crevice of flesh below his back for safe keeping, but the sensation of it there felt decidedly odd, so he put it in his face gash instead. There, it grew soft in his saliva and moulded well against the contours within.

Each step he took made the next one easier, however, the discomfit of skimming over the soil like an errant breeze was slower to fade. The nearby trees pelted him with their confusion, bending to brush against him or shed a few leaves in his hair. Where was he going? Had he lost his branches? He didn't answer them. He didn't know the answer.

All he knew was that he had a promise to fulfil. He was in his prime as far as birch years went, but that didn't stop him from catching the underbark disease last season. Dark clumps had started to swell beneath his smooth, white bark, killing the healthy wood that transported water, nutrients, and glucose up and down his slender trunk. In appearance, he was still unmarked, and as a human, he was equally handsome and pale with dark eyes and wild green hair. But underneath? Birch wasn't sure if he would survive another season if the illness progressed. As much as he loathed to leave the serenity of his grove and family, if he didn't act now, he may never get the chance.

In what seemed like eternity and yet no time at all, Birch reached the end of the tree cover and found himself looking upon a brick burrow with large windows. It looked nothing like the wobbled drawings of the House that the Girl had shown him, except perhaps for the orange tree on its sunny side which bore fruit of the exact same colour as the hasty crayon orbs she scribbled on paper.

He hurried eagerly to the House, but when he reached it, he had no idea how to get inside. Sometimes trees grew roots underneath and branches above, but inside was the domain of humans.

Nearby, a mean bird laughed at him.

He ignored it and peered in through a window. Inside, he could see movement. A young woman walked past, carrying a plate of something. She almost didn't see him, but at the last moment halted and turned.

There she was. The Girl. All grown up. Her eyes were a shade greyer than blue now, and her hair was not the long strands of willow branches but the bob of a well pruned shrub. She was taller than he remembered, or perhaps he was much shorter. Either way, the rosy cheeks and colourful bark were just as he remembered. For a moment he forgot the strange ache he had felt in his chest since the underbark illness set in.

Birch smiled and waved at her. It was a tree's wave with both meaty branches off the shoulder swaying as if pulled by the wind.

The Girl froze with a wide-eyed look. The plate slipped unnoticed from her hands and its contents spilled in every direction on the floor. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and dashed off out of sight.

Birch frowned. This was not part of the promise. He waited until even his tree-patience was tested. There were loud wailing sounds coming from a big metal beetle that approached the house. It stopped close by and two humans emerged from it, shouting. When they grabbed Birch's arms, his mouth opened in exclamation and the flower fell out. He tried to bend and pick it up, but the humans heaved him back and trapped his branches behind his trunk. As they dragged him back to the beetle, he tried to dig his stubby meat roots into the dirt as much as he could, but it only slowed the humans.

"Ooof! What is this guy made of?" one groaned as they lifted him into the beetle.

Birch looked past them to see the Girl staring out of the window.

"The promise!" He shouted at her. His voice was full of strange inflections from the lack of practice in human speech. "The promise!"

But she just stood there, a confused frown on her face, as the humans dragged him into the beetle. Birch watched helplessly from the transparent parts of the beetle's carapace as it scuttled away from the House. It wasn't wailing anymore, but its insides buzzed with the talk of humans distorted through a harsh crackle that sounded to Birch like heavy rain.

When the House with the Girl disappeared from view, he sat straight backed in a wooden silence. What to do now? Outside, the world blurred by at an impossible speed. How many rootwebs away would they take him? He brooded like only a tree could.

When they took him out of the beetle, they wrapped his body into a sheath of soft bark and sat him down in a room with no windows. The burrow here was nothing like the House. Here, the humans spoke to him, asking him questions. They gave him a little bucket to water himself with but shouted at him and took it away when he tried to empty it on his head.

"Does he even understand what we're saying?" one of the humans turned to ask the other.

"The report stated that he was verbal at the house."

They left soon after, explaining to Birch in kind voices that someone would be here for him soon. Birch hoped it would be the Girl. He hoped he could fulfil his promise soon. Time was non-existent in this room. The air smelled neither of day or night. The lights never dimmed or brightened.

Someone eventually came to take Birch away, but it wasn't the Girl and they didn't go back to the House. Instead, he took another beetle ride to another burrow, this one even larger than the last, but looking slightly more like the House because it had windows.

Many days passed. Birch endured it like only a tree could. Whenever he tried to leave, they led him back inside and injected him with a sleepy sap that confused him. At times, he forgot that he was a tree and thought himself human. Other times, they sent him the therapy to convince him that there was no Girl. The food they gave him was often hot and never composted. When he felt human, it almost tasted nutritious, but on his more lucid days he liked to dig through the toilets for unflushed nuggets of delight.

They caught him feeding in the toilet sometimes. A visit to the psychiatrist would always come soon after. Her name was Doctor Taylor, and she was built like an oak with the voice of a magnolia. She wasn't bad to talk to (but she wasn't the Girl). When Birch was ushered into her office on this occasion, she regarded him with more curiosity than usual.

"How are you, Birch?" she asked with a smile. She was always smiling. It was nice.

"Good," he replied with his own smile. His voice was smooth and glossy now. He had much practice using it in his sessions with her, though he still talked little otherwise.

"Your chart says that they found you eating faeces again." Her expression didn't change, though she did sound a touch exasperated. They had had this conversation before.

Birch nodded.

"Did you at least brush your teeth?"

He nodded again.

"Well, that's something, at least. You've got a visitor. I believe that you've been waiting for her."

Birch's eyes lit up. "The Girl!"

Dr Taylor smiled in her measured, reassuring way. "Remember what your psychologist said."

He nodded. "The Girl isn't real." He was so eager to see her now that he's say anything.

The doctor nodded. "And…?"

"And if she was, it might not be who I expect."

Dr Taylor laughed and shook her head. "I have a feeling that I'm undoing a lot of hard work here, but you've never had a visitor before. Perhaps someone's finally here to claim you."

So great was Birch's excitement that he tripped over himself several times following Dr Taylor down the white corridors towards the Visitor Centre. The doors in the hospital that were closed to Birch opened eagerly to Dr Taylor's touch. At this time of day, the centre was mostly empty of visitors, but even if it had been crowded, Birch would have had no difficulty recognising the Girl. She sat at one of the tables close to another door and glanced up as though alerted by Birch's gaze.

He made a beeline to her. All he wanted was to fulfil the promise, but his time in therapy made him hesitant. He turned to look at Dr Taylor, who with a small movement indicated that he should sit down in one of the spare chairs at the Girl's table. Birch did so timidly.

"You finally came," he said.

The Girl took a shaky breath. "Look, I don't know who you are, but I came to ask you how you got this." She reached across the table to deposit a clear plastic bag in front of Birch. In it was the scrap of fabric he had dropped at the House.

Birch looked from the Girl to the flower. There was a weight growing in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched and he snatched his hand back immediately with a darting look at Dr Taylor.

The psychiatrist gave him another one of her reassuring smiles. "Birch, this is Heather. Heather, is this the young man you were after? He's the only one here that matches your description."

The Girl – Heather – found it easier to look at Dr Taylor than at Birch. She nodded and explained, "I called the police on him. It was just so bizarre…" She pointed to the flower. "But I found this outside afterwards." She glanced at Birch. "Did you drop it?"

Birch looked at Dr Taylor again, who nodded encouragingly.

"Yes. You gave it to me when we were younger," he said. For the first time, he felt uncertainty about his past. The more he spent in the hospital, the stranger his story felt to him. Even the Girl didn't know what he was talking about. Was he mad? Had he dreamt it all up? Birch swallowed, venturing tentatively, "…do you remember when I was a tree? You used to talk to me when you were lonely. You used to make nests from my leaves and pretend you were a bird. I promised…" he swallowed. The words wouldn't come. "I promised…"

He heard Dr Taylor inhale deeply and he glanced at her for reassurance. The look she wore was not a comforting one. She was frowning, like Heather, and there was much she seemed to hold back from saying. She wasn't looking at Birch, rather, her focus was on Heather.

"Do I… have we met?" Dr Taylor asked her.

Heather shook her head. She glanced at Birch and seemed uncomfortable to say more around him. "Can I… can I speak with you later?" When Dr Taylor nodded, Heather turned to Birch again. She pointed at the flower. "I didn't give this to you."

They were hard words to hear, and he missed the questions she issued after. Even though he had been working through this in therapy with Dr Taylor, the feeling now was indescribable. There was a knot in his throat that made it hard to speak. He wondered if it was one of the underbark clumps. He brought his hands up to touch his lips. Maybe it hadn't been a promise, but a dream he had made to stave off the inevitable. His eyes felt sore and wet. A raindrop slid down his cheek.

Dr Taylor's hand was warm and reassuring on Birch's shoulder. When he turned to look at her, her usual smile was in place.

"I think that's enough for today."

Birch nodded. He was beginning to trust the good doctor's judgement above his own. She led him out of the visiting room. At the door, he turned, but the Girl had already left. The flower in the plastic bag on the table was the only proof she was ever there.

When Birch was next summoned to Dr Taylor's office, the psychiatrist wasn't smiling. She looked troubled. He thought it was because he had tried to plant himself out near the clump of pines, but she didn't ask about that at all. Instead, she had the Girl's flower on her desk.

Eventually, she cleared her throat and spoke. "I've made a mistake. About you."

Birch blinked. "I don't understand."

Dr Taylor met his gaze for a moment before looking away. "There was a girl here once by the name of Acacia. She was my client. Her family brought her here because she claimed that she could talk to trees. The woman who visited the other day - Heather - is Acacia's sister."

Her words were slow to sink in. Birch had worked so hard in therapy to dispel the Girl and his promise that Dr Taylor's words almost didn't make sense, but as she continued, he felt the truth within him awaken again.

"Acacia and I spent many sessions together, like you and I. She told me about how she had a favourite tree in the grove behind her house; a silver birch. She always thought that the tree would come for her." She laughed at the memory, but it sounded sad. "She insisted that the tree was the prince to her Sleeping Beauty."

"Acacia." Birch tried the name on his lips and found that he liked it. He smiled. "Where is she? Is she here?"

Dr Taylor drew a deep breath. "Birch, you must understand, Acacia was unwell in many ways. I had thought her mentally ill as well."

"Where is she?"

Dr Taylor sighed. She stood very reluctantly. "Come with me."

Again, locked doors sprang open for Dr Taylor, reaffirming to Birch that she was a creature with magics beyond his comprehension. They reached a part of the hospital that was both loud and quiet, where machines hummed and beeped while people spoke in hushed voices. Dr Taylor stopped at a door and ushered Birch in.

He found himself in a small room with a small window overlooking a patch of garden. There was one occupant in it, and she looked nothing like the Girl. Her hair was all gone, and instead of brightly coloured bark she wore a faded blue gown. Her skin was even paler than his, greying at her fingers, lips, and the hollows of her eyes. Flesh hung too loose from her small frame. She looked to be asleep. Machines breathed for her.

She looked nothing like the Girl that had played below his branches, and yet, Birch knew her as instinctively as he knew Spring. Seeing her now, he couldn't understand how he could have mistaken Heather for her, even if they were sisters. There was a spark to the Girl, even now. It was as warm and unforgettable as the first brush of sunlight he had felt as a sprout.

"What is happening?" Birch asked without turning. He didn't want to take his eyes off her for even a moment, in case this was all a dream.

Dr Taylor cleared her throat before speaking, but even then her voice sounded frail. "Acacia… she has been very unwell. Now she is very close to… dying."

Birch nodded. Death. He would soon know it too.

"Hello, Acacia," he said to the Girl, even though he wasn't sure if she could her him. "I am here because of our promise."

The Girl lay very still, so unlike her. He lent down and kissed her. Once. Softly.

"There." He smiled, pleased.

The Girl didn't stir. She didn't open her eyes. She didn't get better. But with the promise fulfilled, Birch breathed easier. Though the ache in his body was almost constant these days, he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. He wouldn't be making any more promises to human girls again. One had been more than enough.

A note from Augie

This was written for the February 3K Short Story Competition on the Labyrinth Forum. The challenge was to write romance with a twist, though I don't know if the end product matches the brief and it might need some editing. However, if you liked the concept and you want to read some great stories, head on over to the 3K Short Story Competition thread on the Labyrinth Forum. Between 1 March - 7 March 2017 you can read them all and vote for your favourite entry. Birch, Heather, and Acacia are all names of plants. As always, thanks for the read. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I quite enjoyed writing from a tree-man's perspective. Augs.

28/02/17 - I posted this in a rush and now I've gone back for an editing pass. CC and nit picking are still very welcome.

05/03/2017 - Typo edits, thanks DJ.