Wispers. Growing louder and louder, screaming distantly, waiting to be heard. I walk closer to the forest, the source of the sound. The crunch of the fresh autumn leaves beneath my feet cleansing the silence into a satisfying and crisp echo in the otherwise still air. Louder and louder still the trees speak on top of each other. I touch the bark of one and all the noise haults in a shocking grasp of my being so strong I nearly fall over. The wind picks up in a way that makes even the smallest moments seem important, however, I realized,this was no small moment. I hear a deep voice call out to me. I close my eyes and concentrate. A familiar word is spoken, but never before has it struck such fear into my heart.

Run.

I open my eyes to see some of the trees shaking, vibrating, and then one by one they lift out of the ground, using their roots like legs. They open a mouth like shape and scream a terrifying war cry. A horrible sound that shakes the earth and calls the others awake. I run. I run and I plan to never look back.

I hear laughing behind me, mocking my fear, laughing at my cowardice response. I turn in spite of myself and as I do I see a fellow witch, a green glow from her hands as she wispers the forgotten language of Hustumical, the language of witches. She grins with unmatchable menace. I see her shift her focus from the trees onto me, but by the time I realize, it's too late. As I take my last breath staring up into that big blue sky, I wonder why that one tree warned me, I wonder if the kindness of one tree can change the minds of the others.