From the moment Metal was born, she cried. She cried when she was awake, when she slept, when she nursed. At first her parents, a very kind and very poor couple, thought that this activity was, perhaps, normal for a newborn. But as time passed and the constant weeping didn't abate, they decided that something was wrong.

As mentioned above, they didn't have much in the way of money, so they also had little opportunity in the way of doctors. Metal's father remembered that when he was a child a healer named Onion lived in Tralalia. He healed those who couldn't afford doctors, and never asked for anything in return but a cup of water. That is, until he was charged with murder. Soon after, he was imprisoned in the President's dungeon. Metal's father hadn't believed the murder charge as a child, and he didn't believe it now.

Anyway, the days of free healing were over. Metal's mother and father did have a clump of money saved up, however, which they had planned to use for their belated honeymoon.

"It can't be helped," they both thought together, as they often times did.

So they paid for a doctor.

The doctor came to their cabin, studied the baby with his hands and metal instruments, and handed her back to her mother.

"Is it bad?" her father asked, and her mother thought.

"She has cryitis," the doctor said. "Without the right medicine, she'll keep crying. She'll keep crying until she leaks out all her liquids and dries up."

"How much does this medicine cost?" her mother asked, and her father thought.

"How much have you got?"

"Nothing," her parents said.

"Well then," the doctor said, putting on his hat. "I suggest you start praying for a miracle."

So they did.

Metal's parents usually weren't the religious sort, so they weren't sure which god or gods to pray to. In the end, they decided to pray to all of them. They whispered their hopes to every god and goddess they'd ever heard of, and every god and goddess they could imagine.

Their baby didn't stop crying. On the positive side, she didn't seem to be drying up. But things weren't always what they seemed, her mother and father knew.

One morning, the couple woke up with an idea buzzing in both their minds.

"Some people say that Onion's old shack has the power to heal," her mother said. "Even though he doesn't live there anymore."

"It's a five day walk," her father said. "But I don't think we have another choice."

That day, they gathered food from the forest together, in preparation for their trek. While in the forest, a wonderful thing happened.

Metal stopped crying.

"She's cured!" they said.

Now they were the ones crying. They danced together, happily, causing much of their collected berries and mushrooms to spill from their baskets.

On the way back to the cabin, Metal started crying again.

The parents looked at each other.

Then they looked at the cabin.

Metal had started crying the exact moment the cabin had come into view.

They faced away from the cabin, and Metal stopped crying.

"They cabin!" they said. "That's why she cries!"

"But why?" they thought.

And they thought.

But they couldn't figure their baby out.

Her mother ripped a strap of cloth from her dress, and used it as a blindfold. Sure enough, Metal preferred the darkness to the sight of the cabin.

They returned home with their half-filled baskets, and everything seemed so silent. Part of them almost missed the crying. But the other part was so happy their baby was no longer suffering that nothing else seemed to matter.

"We can't keep her in the dark forever," her father said.

"What should we do?" her mother said.

"We could build a new cabin. Out of sight from here."

It was agreed.

The next day, Metal and her mother watched as her father approached a tree with his trusty axe.

Her father chopped, and Metal cried louder than she'd ever cried before.

Another chop, and another scream.

"Stop!" her mother said.

Her father returned to them and asked, "What's wrong?"

Her mother explained the situation. They decided then that their daughter loved trees. It was no wonder that the cabin bothered her so.

In the days that followed, her parents went to work on a new home, made of clay and other non-tree materials. They replaced their wooden spoons with carved stones. They did everything they could to make their daughter happy. And she was.

In fact, all three lived quite happily until the day a Representative visited their home.

Her parents offered the businessman a cup of water, but he wouldn't touch it.

Instead, he stood by the chair that they motioned for him to sit on, and said, "The President has decided to utilize this land for the betterment of Tralalia."

"What does that mean?" her parents said.

"You'll be relocated," the man said. "The President has been kind enough to provide you with a home in a nearby village."

"He's giving us a home?" her mother said.

The man laughed. "No, no. You'll have to make payments. But they're very reasonable."

"We don't have the money to pay for a home," her father said. The only way they ever made any money at all was by selling rare mushrooms at the local market.

"The President knows that," the man said. "You'll be supplied with a job as well."

Her mother and father looked at their baby, then at the businessman.

"Is the house made of wood?" her father said.

"Pardon me?" the man said.

"The house we'll be provided with," her mother said. "Is it made of wood?"

"Of course," the man said.

"Our baby doesn't like wood," her father said. "She likes it when it's alive, I mean."

"Is there a different house could move to?" her mother said. "One not made of wood?"

"They're all made of wood," the man said, sounding rather annoyed.

"Can we remove the house we're given?" her father said. "And build our own?"

"No," the man said, with even more annoyance in his voice.

"Then we can't leave," her mother said.

"You have to leave!" the man said. "This is the President's land!"

"My family's lived here for generations," her father said. "Since before the President was the President. Since before he was born. Since before Tralalia was called Tralalia."

"Listen, friend," the man said, making friend sound like a dirty word. "You're trespassing. The President has the right to throw you in his Dungeon, but we both know that he's a better man than that. I suggest you accept his generosity and cooperate. Otherwise…" He finished the sentence with the look in his eyes.

Her parents didn't want to give in, but they did. They had to.

So they moved again. And Metal grew up in a wooden home. Her parents, of course, worked as fast as they could to conceal the dead trees in their house with layers of non-dead trees. But even when they were sure every wooden surface was covered, as well as all the windows, Metal still wept. Her parents figured that the memory of death was still with her. Over time, she cried less and less, until she stopped crying completely. One day her parents decided that they couldn't keep her cooped up in the house any longer, so they took her outside.

She stared at the neighboring houses, and didn't shed a tear.

Her parents were thankful that she no longer felt sadness at the sight of dead trees, but part of them mourned the fact that her love for trees had faded away.

At least, that was how they perceived the situation.

What they didn't know was that despite Metal's lack of tears, she still felt the sadness deep down. The only difference was that she'd concealed her tears with layers and layers of non-tears.

As she grew older, this sadness amassed inside her, and grew into anger, and hatred.

More than anything, she hated the President. If it was only herself the President hurt, she could have forgiven him. But he caused her parents great pain.

She knew that her mother and father used to spend all day and night together, before they moved to the village. Now her mother stayed home all day, away from her father. And her father went to work for the President's Magicians. They performed experiments on him day after day. And every day he would come home a new man, with a horn or spotted skin or an upside down face. Though he differed on the outside from day to day, he was always the same man within. He did the best he could to make his family happy. Metal's mother tried to put on the happiest face possible when he came home. She tried to pretend that she was happy. But Metal's parents both knew the truth.

The President had ruined their lives.

Metal wanted revenge.

So she decided her childhood to researching the president, and plotting. This required her to come into contact with many books. In other words, dead trees. With every bit of knowledge that she absorbed, so too did she take in suffering, which aided in fueling her rancor.

One day, when Metal was a young woman, her father came home with a smile on his face. A purple, veiny smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"What is it?" her mother said, unable to read his thoughts for once.

"On the way home, I met a Hero on the street."

"A Hero? Are you sure?" her mother said.

"Yes," her father said. "He showed me his license. Anyway, he agreed to take us across the border for a very nominal fee."

Her mother gasped. "But I thought a Hero could only be hired from an Agency."

"So did I," her father said. "He already signed the contract." He held out a tiny paper. One of the most powerful papers in all of Tralalia.

Her mother cried, and so did her father. Ever since they'd come to this village, they'd started saving up for a Hero. They never thought that they would live to see the signing of this contract. But they'd hoped that they could secure safe passage for Metal in her later life. Safe passage out of Tralalia.

Metal waited for her parents to stop rejoicing, then said, "Those Heroes are agents of the President. They can't be trusted."

"I looked this man in the eyes," her father said. "Spoon is a good man."

Metal did trust her father's judgment in these matters. It seemed that good people could easily identify one another. The same could be said for the bad.
"Then I'm sure he will take you safely from here," she said.

Her parents glanced at one another. "You're coming with us, aren't you?" they said.

"I can't," she said. And what she and her parents knew she meant was, "I can, but I'm too angry to let go." It was as if the spirit of every dead tree she'd ever seen was inside her now, rooting her to Tralalia.

Her parents begged and pleaded and cried almost as many tears as Metal had as a baby. All the while, she and her parents knew that this attempt was as futile as it was unavoidable. Metal told them that if she ever accomplished her question, she would find them. And she told them that if they stayed here on her account, she would hate herself as she hated the President. So, in the end, her parents left everything they could for their daughter, then left Tralalia.

Metal didn't.

Instead, she was taken from her third home to the forth. Her foster family was very strict, which was no accident, Metal knew. Her social worker had a copy of her permanent record and knew she was a rebel. The President wanted all rebels crushed, in one way or the other.

Metal didn't let this stop her though. Whenever her foster parents mentioned something good about the Good President (as most Tralalians called him), she would counter with what she knew to be the wicked truth. And she would be punished.

One day her foster mother led her into the backyard and pointed. "Tell me that the President is a good man, just this once, or I'll chop that tree into smithereens."

Metal shrugged. "I don't care about that tree," she lied.

"Yes you do," her stepmother said. "I've seen the way you wince when we throw logs into the fire. You care about all trees. Especially this one."

Her foster mother was right. Metal spent much of her free time sitting outside with her back against this tree, listening to its stories.

"Say it, or I'll chop it down," her foster mother said.

Metal loved this tree more than she'd ever loved any tree, but still she said, "No."

Her foster mother approached her, and Metal expected a slap, or worse. But what the young woman received was a piece of paper.

"You passed," her foster mother said with a smile. "If you really want to help bring down the President, go there." She patted Metal's head and walked away.

Metal looked down at the paper. It was a map.

It was true that she didn't particularly trust her foster mother. This map might've led her into a trap. However, she imagined her father saying, "Look into her eyes. She's a good woman." That was enough.

She followed the directions to a spot in the forest like any other spot.

That is, until she lifted off the ground, and floated among the trees, twirling as she went. She ended up flying through an open window into an enormous tree house. The invisible force set her on a flat stone. Across from her sat a young woman, older than Metal, dressed in green, and illuminating the color as well.

"My name is Yarn," the young woman said. "You're the tree girl."

"There's more to me than trees," Metal said.

"Of course," Yarn said. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

"Can you really help me bring down the President?"

Yarn smiled. "I was thinking more along the lines of you helping me. But yes, I can help. I have resources, and connections, and magic powers. What I need more of are people like you on my side. People who won't give up, no matter how difficult the task. And let me tell you, this will be difficult. Impossible, most likely. But that won't stop you, will it."

That wasn't a question, but Metal still answered, "No. It won't."

"Good." Yarn's face turned serious. "In order for us to work together, you're going to have to make sacrifices. The first one will probably be the most difficult."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Give up your quest for revenge. Our goal here is to save Tralalia. Tralalia must become your motivation. You must be willing to die for her and her people. Let me know when your feelings have changed, then we can join forces. I'll leave you to your thoughts." With that, Yarn stood and exited the room.

For the first time, Metal realized that this was her room. Despite the fact that it was located in a treehouse, there was absolutely no wood to be seen. Most everything was made of stone.

Metal considered lying to Yarn. Telling her she'd given up on revenge, when in actuality she hadn't. But Metal had a feeling that Yarn would be able to tell. Yarn seemed wise beyond her years. Even more so than Metal herself.

So Metal decided to give it a try.

Surrounded by stone, she focused on love instead of hate. Every time the President and his misdeeds burst into her mind, she looked away.

At her parents.

At the trees.

She'd known more love in her childhood than most people ever knew in their whole lifetimes. The problem was that her love was trapped.

Trapped within layers and layers of non-love.

The President may have been responsible for these layers, but she was the one who'd thought her love was too weak to break free. She was the one who doubted her own strength. At this moment, however, she let her love consume her.

Tears flowed from her eyes.

Trees whispered secrets in her ears.

She was stronger than ever.

Metal was now ready to sacrifice anything so that love could spread throughout Tralalia.

Anything.

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