She had not spoken to another human in years.
Not because she couldn't. Not because she was incapable of language.
But because there was simply no need.
The trees did not ask questions. The wind did not demand explanations. The earth did not require conversation.
Humans, on the other hand—humans were unbearable.
They did not listen. They took without asking, destroyed without thinking, spoke without meaning. She had left them behind long ago, retreating into the deepest parts of the forest, shedding the last remnants of civilization like dead skin.
Here, she was free.
She did not sleep in trees—they were alive, and she refused to harm them. Instead, she had made a home in a cave, feeding off what the earth provided. She ate berries and fallen leaves, hunted when she needed to, though she never took more than necessary.
Her body had changed over time. Her muscles had grown lean from movement, her skin weathered by the elements. She was tall—taller than most humans—and with the layers of animal pelts draped over her shoulders, she barely looked human at all.
She liked it that way.
The rumors amused her. Travelers spoke of a beast in the woods, a towering figure glimpsed between the trees, something neither fully human nor fully animal.
It was better this way.
So long as they feared her, they would stay away.
And as long as they stayed away, she could live.
But humans had never been good at staying away.
She smelled them before she saw them.
Oil. Gasoline. Metal and smoke.
She heard the engines—machines that did not belong here. The sound burned against the natural rhythm of the forest, loud, invasive, wrong.
She stood at the mouth of her cave, watching as the trucks rolled in, as the men climbed out, shouting to one another.
And then, she saw the fire.
The trees screamed.
Not with sound, not with voices, but she felt it—felt the heat licking at their trunks, felt the roots shriveling beneath the weight of destruction, felt the life being ripped away.
Something inside her snapped.
She ran.
She did not think. She did not hesitate. She acted.
It was not enough.
She had set fires of her own, destroyed their machines, driven them away in the dead of night—but they always came back.
And this time, they had come for her.
They did not bring police. They did not bring warnings.
They brought dogs. Guns. Chains.
They had studied her. Tracked her.
The hunt did not last long.
She had spent years running through the trees, knowing every root, every path, every branch—but they had the numbers, the weapons, the traps.
The first gunshot tore through her leg.
She did not scream.
She only fell.
The dogs were on her before she could stand, jaws snapping at her limbs. She fought. She always fought. But there were too many.
They dragged her—through the dirt, through the mud, until she felt the rough bark of a tree pressed against her back.
She realized what was happening only when she felt the ropes tightening around her wrists.
She did not speak to them.
She did not beg.
She had never begged.
She only glared, silent, as they stood around her, laughing, cursing, spitting at her as if she were less than human.
She did not care what they did to her.
But when they doused the tree in gasoline—that was when she screamed.
Not in fear.
Not in pain.
But in rage.
"Don't touch the tree."
The words tore from her throat, raw, broken, desperate
"Humans are disgusting. How could you do this? This tree never hurt anyone."
She thrashed against the ropes as they set the fire, as the flames curled around her ankles, crawled up the bark, reached for the sky.
Still, she did not beg.
Even as her skin blistered.
Even as the fire devoured her.
She only closed her eyes.
Not to pray.
Not to hope.
But to leave.
To return to the earth, to sink beneath the roots, to become something better than this broken, burning human body.
And then
The air shifted.
Even through the pain, she felt it.
Something was here.
She forced her eyes open.
A child stood in front of her.
Small. Still. Watching.
Not a hallucination. Not a dream.
Something else.
The fire continued to climb. She had minutes, if that.
Her vision blurred, black creeping at the edges.
She had never asked for anything. Never wanted anything beyond what she had built for herself.
But now—
She let out a slow, shaking breath.
"Please…"
Her voice cracked. She swallowed, forcing the words through burnt lips.
"Please help the tree."
Darkness pulled at her.
She let it take her.
She did not expect to wake up.