Heartroot was not born like the others. They began as a sapling in a quiet grove near the edge of the hills. When the seasons turned for the first time, a child wandered into the clearing and sat beside the small tree. The child said nothing. They simply cried.
Heartroot listened.
The next day the child returned with a handful of seeds and a heavy heart. Again they sat, and again Heartroot stood still. No questions. No advice. Only presence. The child left feeling lighter and the tree grew stronger.
Years passed. More visitors came. Some carried grief. Others brought anger. Some just needed space. With every silent moment shared, Heartroot changed. A trunk formed where branches once met. Legs grew from thick roots. A glowing heart appeared at the centre of the chest. It pulsed when others were near. Not loud. Not bright. Just steady.
Heartroot walked into the village during the Long Rain when tempers flared and voices rose. They did not speak. They placed a flower between two arguing friends. They knelt beside a tired elder. They sat under a broken bridge until someone joined them. Bit by bit the noise quieted.
Now whenever someone is hurting, others say Heartroot will feel it. Not through words. Through the shift in air or the way a child clutches their tail. Heartroot never forces a hug or gives a perfect answer. They show up. They stay. They offer what they can.
They carry tokens from every creature who has shared a truth beside them. A blue ribbon. A carved acorn. A pebble with a thumbprint. These are reminders that compassion does not need to fix. It only needs to hold.
No one knows if Heartroot will ever stop growing. Maybe they grow with every kind act. Maybe they are rooted in all of us. Either way, when someone takes the time to truly listen, the leaves around them rustle a little more than usual.
And sometimes that soft sound is all the comfort a moment needs.