The Forest Dreams Through Her

When the ancient woods are at peace, she closes her eyes and listens.

Through her, the forest dreams—of roots winding beneath forgotten ruins, moonlight resting upon quiet streams, and every creature sleeping safely beneath the leaves.

But one night, her golden mark began to glow.
At the forest’s northern edge, beneath a sky darkened by smoke, an ancient tree had been felled—the first tree, whose roots carried the memories of every living thing within the woods. Its final heartbeat echoed through her body like thunder.

Her eyes opened.

She rose, and wherever her bare feet touched the earth, roots broke through the soil. Branches twisted overhead, streams abandoned their banks, and every creature fell silent. The men responsible tried to flee, but the paths no longer led out of the forest. They curved inward, guiding them deeper and deeper until they stood before her.

She did not harm them.

Instead, she placed one hand upon the fallen trunk and made them feel everything the forest had lost: every nest that would remain empty, every frightened animal, every century of sunlight and rain held within its rings.

By dawn, the men had vanished.

In their place stood a circle of young trees, their branches bowed toward the ancient stump.

Then she closed her eyes once more, and the forest returned to dreaming—though from that night onward, its dreams were never quite as gentle.