The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like a century.
As Morne watched the forest rise and fall like the tides on a beach, another image appeared in his mind, that of the eerie vision he had experienced, shortly after their second true battle with the elves.
In it, he had seen countless civilizations grow and die, just as the Mother Tree was doing now. Each time, the people would rebuild, and each time, they would be destroyed.
Unlike that time, which had nearly given him an aneurism in its extremes, this was almost monotonous in its predictability, a shallow copy trying to imitate something far above it on the totem pole.
But the message wasn't lost on Morne, and as his recalling of the vision became firmer and more vivid, his eyes grew dull like a drunkard's as he shut off the outside world, sinking into his memories.
