As the sunbeam whispers to the trees , So too can your heart whisper to your soul .

The trees had always spoken, but now… she understood them.

At first, it was a whisper to the winds, a shiver in the leaves. Then the words came- low, ancient, laced with something hungry. They spoke of roots that stretched beyond time, of things buried deep, still breathing beneath the soil.

“You are one of us now,” they sighed through the brittle branches. “And, so they will come for you too.”

The ground pulsed beneath her bare feet. A creaking yawn echoed through the forest, something shifting, walking.

The oldest tree groaned. A warning. A welcome. A death knell.

She had listened too long.

The smell of spring is the year, a young woman is walking through the woods on her way home frome school. Out of nowhere, her music stopped playing. " What the hell?” she asked, checking her phone. She kept pressing play, but nothing was happening. She thought she heard talking, so she took out her headphones. Then she heard it again, plain as day. “Where is that voice coming from?” she thought looking around the woods. She noticed a strange mark glowing on one of the trees; she tilted her head as she studied it. “What is that inserting thing?” she questioned, walking towards it. As the girl approached, the voice became louder. She reached out to the strange mark. as she was about to touch it, she vanished.

“Strike us down, We’re full of wilt,

Take our branches, No ounce of guilt,

Axe over shoulder, Swing quick to kill,

This torture, Most would will,”

The witch of the Deep Dark Dangerous swung her rusted blade into the trunk of another tree. With rapt intention, another fell, while she sung her little melody.

“For my table, Rich and strong,

Mighty oak, Would do no wrong,

Patience like, A small wood ant,

Eating away, At every chance,”

But then there was something quite wrong, amidst the great forest of Deep Dark Dangerous. She paused in her tracks hearing a noise so strange, even so to describe to us.

But it was so faint, she hardly cared. So she lifted her axe once more, putting another tree to the ground, if she dared.

“Lift and strike, Yes, lift and strike,

Cut and drop, Must do it right,

Hear the crack, See the fall,

Hit the bark, Ignore the call,

Pretend it didn’t Exist at all.”

Oh, but it very much did exist, and it was far more persistent this time. A strong wind blew the axe from her grasp, a protest to her crime.

The ugly, skinny witch shrieked in terror. Trees suddnely looked as though they were crowding around her.

Slowly snaking their roots closer to her feet. The sound of bark stretching and molding nearly causing her ears to bleed.

She threw her palms to the sides of her head. But it didn’t aid in protecting her hearing at all, for it gave the trees the advantage, instead.

She shrieked once more, as she felt something corse and rough wrap around her legs, pulling her down. Desperately, she cried for help and sunk her nails into the muddy ground.

The roots pulled her across a pool of crimson blood. The blood from the trees she’d carelessly chopped down, brothers and sisters of loved ones.

The blood leaked from their trunks and stained her tangled hair red. The foolish hag wished this morning she’d stayed in her bed.

Years of her life she’d spent, downing every ounce of bark she could. Everything she owned was made of it — was made of wood.

“Let me live, I beg you, please!”

A scratchy voice answered. “We warned you what would happen if you kept killing trees.”

“What warning?” She wailed. “I have received none!”

“You just weren’t listening, the vile being you are. We gave you plenty — more than one.”

“Please spare me, for my actions were folly. I was oblivious that you _could _speak! I did not know trees had a language, I’m sorry.”

No such use. She should have said nothing, because pleading made matters worse, and her apology was but a ruse, a ploy that the trees caught on to.

There would be no more chances, no more of the witches plagued existence. She is the reason beautiful trees now rot, a curse that would never be forgotton, nothing could save them — no kind of useless resistence.

Now I shan’t say what happened next. Some wouldn’t be able to handle it.

But it went something like this:

The trees now sang a new version of the witches heartless song. A terrifying reason to never kill trees, a barbaric hymn very wrong.

“Strike her down, She’s full of wilt,

Take one life, No ounce of guilt,

Her torture, The forests will,

For the dirt, Rich and strong,

Bloody vengeance, Would do no wrong,

Crumbling like, A small wood ant,

Crying for forgiveness, At every chance,

Lift and strike, Yes, lift and strike,

Cut and drop, Must do it right,

Hear the crack, Watch her crawl,

Not too far, though, Lest we make sure she Ever existed at all.”

The witch of Deep Dark Dangerous died that day. Her useless body feeding the earth, giving it sour taste.

Not the type of taste that would care for the wood. Rather, a last curse she uttered with her very final words in a tongue only she understood.

A curse to ensure she lived on in some way. Something to forever haunt nature, and make all who lived afraid.

—Rot.

In case the trees or anyone ever forgot.

She might have lived for moments more. But she poisoned her own body, dying self knowing full well what it had in store.

Her very bones infected the soil. So her soul could torment the woods and turn their bark something far from normal.

The trees can speak I hear them whispering They can speak Not how you and I do I walk on the path you see before you I walk daily Feeling like something is reaching out to me Like a friendly thing trying to say hello

I hear them in the breeze In the leaves In the very path before you

You may not hear it You may not see But it is real to me

She ran into the woods branches catching at her hair. Her brother had ran past her way further than they were ever supposed to go. Where could he have possibly gone? She leaned onto an old gnarled tree trying to catch her breath when she heard something whisper to her go deeper in. As she trekked further and further in she saw his hat stuck on a branch high up, way further than either could have reached. Her breathing picked up, her heart pounded. They had heard tales from the kids at school and he never believed them.

A scream pierced the air and she lurched into action. She could do this she could save him. As she ran towards him she came upon a clearing in the forest a creature from nightmares had him held high toying with him. She ducked behind the nearest tree and stood absolutely still. The creature cocked its head at the movement and threw him down.

In the heart of a forgotten woodland, where the air tasted of earth and magic, a solitary witch named Elara wandered through the curling mists. The trees stood tall and ancient, their gnarled roots like twisted fingers reaching into the rich soil, while their trunks bore the stories of centuries in their rugged bark.

Elara had always felt a connection to the forest, but on this particular day, a strange sensation tugged at her spirit. As she traversed the moss-laden path, she closed her eyes, listening intently. Suddenly, the familiar whispers of the wind transformed into a distinct melody—a low, harmonious murmur that resonated deep within her soul.

Opening her eyes, she was startled to find the trees bending slightly, as if leaning closer to share their secrets. A vivid green light shimmered around their leaves, illuminating intricate carvings that seemed to pulse with life. The language of the trees was awakening, revealing profound truths of ancient magic and the hidden, dark entities that lurked in the shadows of the forest.

Driven by curiosity, Elara reached out, her fingers grazing the bark of a massive oak. Images flashed in her mind—once vibrant rituals, powerful incantations, and the sorrowful tales of spirits entangled in forgotten battles against dark forces. With every moment, she understood the urgency; a long-silenced evil stirred deep within the roots of the forest, threatening to rise once more.

Elara, armed with this new gift, realized she was destined to bridge the gap between the realms of humanity and the old magical wisdom of nature. But as she delved deeper into the ancient language, she discovered that not all trees held benevolent knowledge; some were bearers of curses, and not every secret was meant to be uncovered.

With perilous choices to make and guardians of the forest to confront, Elara’s journey had just begun. The echoes of the past beckoned her to reclaim forgotten magic and prepare for an impending darkness that sought to reclaim its dominion. The adventure would test her courage, challenge her loyalty, and unveil the intricate threads connecting her fate with the ancient world of the trees.

As the forest stood patiently, whispering its ancient language, Elara took a deep breath, ready to embrace the wonders and dangers that lay ahead in the unraveling tapestry of magic, life, and her own destiny.

i was peeling potatoes when it happened. the water was bubbling into an angry boil, but i wasn’t ready to cook the potatoes yet. one of them had a stubborn crevice that sort of resembled a butt crack, and i couldn’t peel the thick, yucky skin out completely. long story short, my knife slipped and i accidentally peeled the skin off of something else. “shit!” my kitchen sink is right by the window, so i guess that’s why it happened. while i was washing the blood off my finger, (and while the water in my pot was fuming) the trees spoke. now, my mother didn’t raise an idiot. i _knew _that everything in this world has a language, everything speaks, everything communicates. even though witches are more attuned to various languages, we still can’t hear the more ancient ones. (like trees, for example, which happen to hear everything) but as i stood by the sink, cursing myself for not saving all that blood, i caught snippets. little fragments drifting through the window. glass is, after all, such a penetratable material. .._do you know why.. !! could you really if you had!! …maybe life isn’t yours to decide, maybe if you looked into your heart you’d realize you are a worthless shell of what you once were… _ all i remember thinking in that moment was that trees are really judgmental. and then the seriousness of the situation hit me. i could be the first witch ever to talk to trees, and maybe i could even find a spell to create connection with them. no time to waste; i scrambled oustide, snatching my notebook and pens on the way. as i stood there in the forest, among the trees, their voices overwhelmed me. it sounded like all trees did was put you down, or gossip. i sat there, and i listened. after about an hour, i sure wasn’t any wiser, but at least i knew what was going on in the tree community, and boy was it messy. all i can tell you is that if you ever meet a tree named roselyn, you had better steer clear. finally i lifted my notebook and scratched up a spell. if i could find someone to test it on, then i just might become very, very famous. the spell was simple enough; sharp steel, blood, skin, water steam, and a starchy root (preferably potato). and that was when i remembered the boiling water. let’s just say that my pot now very angrily sported a burnt bottom.

I was taught the language of trees from a very young age. From the billowing of branches to the howling wind, my mother took me through every word and its meaning. After she died, I continued my studies. It was challenging without her, but like the women before me, I never backed down from a challenge.

Through many restless nights, I poured through books and grimoires. Potions fueled my energy and kept my eyes from closing. On the fifth rising of the moon, I paced back and forth from the kitchen to my study.

“Did I seriously lose the mushroom extract again?” I groaned. My eyes swept over every inch of the kitchen, my frustration increasing with each drawer opened until it boiled over. When I recognized the bottle that has been in my hands the entire search as the mushroom extract, I let out an annoyed sigh.

“What is wrong with me?”

I quickly made another potion to clear my mind. Then another. Until my mind numbed and red veins bulged in my eyes. Until I felt something wrap around my wrist.

A vine.

It snaked through the open window, traveled across my study, and reached out to me. Gently, it tugged me toward the moonlight, like a mother guiding a confused child. I attempted to pull back against this gentle force, but the vine strengthened its hold on me, and I had no choice but to follow it.

Then the whispers came.

Flickers of a message filtered through the howling wind. They floated around me like a warm blanket, swept through the strands of my hair. I peered below my window to see a small cluster of pink roses blooming from the earth. The vine that took me had emerged from the entanglement of stems, now caressing my cheek.

I reached down and touched its gentle petals, smooth as the finest silk. My mother loved all of nature equally, but she always had some kind of pink plant around the house. I did my best to keep them in full bloom after her passing.

“I hate seeing you like this,” the wind passed to my ears.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Sleep depraved. Desperate to enrich the knowledge passed to you so long ago.”

“I don’t want to forget her.”

“I know. But do you know why it always rains saltwater?”

“Yes.”

“So stop doing this to yourself. Go to bed.”

I remained standing. The vine shoved me back.

When I reluctantly listened, I watched the stars blink at me. The thin branches flowed like hair. And the crescent moon formed a content smile.

I always knew I was different. Things just happened around me; birds would land on my shoulders and head, cats would follow me around, bees would swarm around me. It was not uncommon for me to be uncommonly lucky, I won games of chance easily. People I didn’t like would often have bad things happen to them. I was special and I loved it. I never officially labeled myself as a witch, not until the trees anyway. I was only sixteen, hiding in the woods from my shitty parents when I heard it the first time. It was the softest hello I had ever heard, It wasn’t aloud but in my head. Looking around apprehensively, I heard it again. This time though it was accompanied by a branch slowly reaching towards me, the leaves gently brushing my cheek. I should have felt scared, if I wasn’t an odd one I would have been. I knew I was safe though, the old oak felt safe. It was bent and ancient, moss crawled up its sides. It’s large twisted roots curved around me, like a shield from the dangers in the deep forest. We talked for hours, about things that interest trees, and telling it the tale of my life. As the light grew dim, I stood up to finally return home. My parents should finally be passed out and it would be safe. As I turned to walk away a root curled around my ankle and the oak gave me a warning. It told me that it hadn’t felt a witch as powerful as me in years, that I wasn’t meant for this world anymore. Then it asked me if I was happy. I had to think about it, I thought about my abusive, angry parents. I thought about how the other people at my school thought I was a freak and avoided me. My only friends were the animals and now the trees around me. No. I wasn’t happy. The oak gave me a choice, it said I could stay here and live a normal life. I might be happy, or miserable it didn’t know but I wouldn’t ever face monsters (unless they were human) and I would spend my life blending in and hiding my gifts. Alternatively it could send me somewhere else. Somewhere with magic and adventure. Somewhere my powers could do great or terrible things. I would have a chance to change everything. It would be dangerous, but it would also be marvelous. Well, I was always a difficult child. Easy never appealed to me. As the tree rose on its roots, a shimmering light appeared between the e gnarled tendrils. I couldn’t see through it, it was almost like a glowing fog. I stepped through and began my greatest adventure ever.