Millennia ago it fled to the Forest, seeking refuge beneath the roots of stalwart trees. Shedding its own memories to escape the pain, it burrowed deep where it suckled for centuries from the furthest root tips at the cold threshold of bedrock. Neither alive nor dead, real nor imaginary, it slept the deepest sleep from which it expected to never awaken.
Yet, the trees above aged and died as new growth rose from the earth, again and again. In time, this continual renewal of the Forest called to it, whispering of redemption, hope and even future joy. In response, it grew in its sleep, stretching to embrace more trees. Healing and reaching upward. Changed and hopeful, it began dreaming of new life and wondering the fundamental questions again. Now, on the verge of awakening, its spirit glimmers among the leaves in the secret heart of night, its voice a whisper on the wind: “What am I and what might I become?”