Insignis Pine
“Who died and made him king of the woods?” Larch said.
Willow leaned over and said, “It’s the name, you know. It’s all in the name.”
“What, ‘Pine’?” Larch snorted. “What’s so special about that?”
“No, the first part. Insignis. It’s very distinguished.”
“Distinguished my root. It’s all flounce, there’s no substance.”
Willow sighed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. They say it means ‘remarkable.’” Willow’s branches fluttered in the breeze. “Remarkable.”
Larch snorted again. “Any tree that has to put ‘remarkable’ in his name is overcompensating. Did you know we larches come from nobility? We’re an ancient tree line, but do you see us flouncing that around and putting on airs? No. We’re better than that.”
“I think you’re just jealous.”
Larch’s needles bristled. “Jealous? Don’t be ridiculous. My cones are twice the size of his.”
Willow giggled. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Right,” Larch said. “I don’t have to put up with this.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. You know he’s an evergreen, right?” Willow paused. “Evergreen.”
“Hmph, those year-long trees aren’t to be trusted. Sooner or later, the sap is bound to sour.”
“Indeed. No need to get upset over the little things.” Willow giggled. “Little.”
“Oh for crying out loud, are you done now?”
Willow’s branches shook as she stifled her laughter. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Moving on,” Larch said.
“Moving on, indeed,” said Willow.
