Wood-Shaper stared at the wedge-shaped cut he had made for a long time, trying to make sense of what he saw. Behind the softwood on the outside of the tree there was something else—something other than wood. He removed his glove and prodded it with a finger, and felt it squish beneath his touch. The day was cold, yet this material was somehow warm to the touch. The creamy coloration wasn’t far off from wood, and he marveled at how he managed not to cleave into it.
Marking the tree with a colored band, he returned to his cabin to fetch his tools, determined to discover what it was he had found. His curiosity was piqued, and he had not felt this sense of adventure in a long time. The lonesome monotony of daily life had dulled his spirit, but it seemed it had not been completely eroded. For years he had been merely a woodcutter, but now it seemed he would once again live up to his name and his mark.
When he returned with his tools his double checked to make sure he didn’t simply imagine it. As a child he was taught to doubt, as though enforcing a mundane archetype like a veil over reality would somehow benefit him. The less one believes in the less they have to think about, but Wood-Shaper was never fond of blending into the background nor was he afraid to think. Where some saw merely a piece of wood he saw its potential to be something more. This time, however, he would be carving something out from the wood, rather than out of it, and would have to be very delicate to avoid damaging it.
Carefully he began to peel back the bark, trying to make sure he knew the dimensions of the anomaly, and how far it reached. After all, it may not be perfectly cylindrical, which became quite evident as he began to carve away the outler layer of wood, finding that in some areas he would have to cut deep while in others he would merely scrape away a few shavings before the squishy substance was revealed.
Lower down and up above it seemed to reside the deepest, as well as some places in the middle, though often more so on one side than the other. As morning was washed away by noontide’s flow the tree had become rather shapely and statuesque, but also much thinner than it had been. To avoid disaster he took some time to remove the branches, checking inside each one with a small notch just to be sure. Once the tree was fully pruned he resumed his work, chiseling at the wood like a sculptor with a block of marble.
Thus far he had kept whatever it was sealed within the wood save the few places he had found it with his tools, yet while chiseling about waist high he managed to reveal a part that was entirely a different color from the rest, yet still maintained the same buoyant elasticity. Intrigued and invigorated, he carved away the nearby section, pulling chips from the surface until the color became a pattern, and the pattern became an image.
When he was finished he did not quite know what to make of it. That is, he recognized what it was meant to be right away, but could not yet understand what it meant. He stepped back and tried to take it all in together: the curves, the colors, the dimensions. He instinctively placed his hand over his thigh without really knowing the reason, then decided to try carving somewhere else for a while.
Using a small stepping-stool he began to shave away the top as far down as it would go, yet here he came across another mystery. It seemed he had broken into a deposit of a different substance entirely, pink and fibrous while also soft and springy like wool, though silkier and longer too. With some dexterity he managed to reach the end of a strand and draw it out from the tree, though it would not be severed as its length continued down inside.
He scratched his head, running his fingers through his mane, and that’s when it hit him: it was hair. He touched his thigh, where his cutie mark was emblazoned beneath his trousers and recalled the symbol down below, depicting a butterfly.
A feeling of dread fell upon him along with a disturbing revelation that provoked fearful thoughts. He began carving more quickly, revealing more of the pink hair until he came upon an ear. This discovery seemed to confirm his dreadful suspicions that his wonderful project would have a grim end, until it twitched.
They’re alive.
He cleared the wood from the other side, releasing another ear. He stripped the wood from the forehead, then carefully carved the slope and curve of the muzzle to reveal a delicate face with long lashes and sleepily-lidded eyes.
She’s beautiful.
He felt her breath on his hand, short and shallow, then worked to free her chest, for which he had to carve around her breasts which, though it had been some time since he had last seen a mare, seemed rather on the large side as they burst free from their arboreal binding, allowing the girl to breathe deeply again.
Her eye lids began to flutter, but something told him he needed to finish what he had started, so he continued to carve until a wooden shell was all that remained obscuring her lower half. He pulled back the wood entrapping her tail, then released her hands clasped delicately over her belly. He freed her slender legs and pretty hooves until she was fully revealed, standing impossibly in her picturesque position atop the stump.
He did not know many fairytales, but understand that a curse was broken with a kiss. Suddenly shy, he stepped upon the stump along with her and pressed his lips to hers until her eyes fluttered open.
Author's Note
Wrote this all in one go for the ‘Arboreal Yearnings’ story contest. I am actually quite happy I was able to push myself to do that. 
As always I hope you like it. Don’t be afraid to leave a comment. 
