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Description
The woods are stirring this evening, right around the time the sun sets. It’s rather disturbing. A brown rabbit pokes its head up form under the ground, its white nose wiggling against the air, right next to a fox, sitting dormant, its undivided attention splayed forward.

“Our woods are diminishing,” notes a figure with white hair, draped over its pale collarbone, all way down to its throne. One arm is draped behind the throne, and its other hand is used as a resting spot for the figure’s chin. From the way her red lips minimally move, following the somberness of her face devoid of wrinkles, one would suggest boredom, instead of concern.

Another figure sits next to her, still and silent. She blinks, staring; not at the furry, scaly, and feathered audience; not at the figure-like trees whose fingery branches swamp the gatherers tonight; not even on ahead.

The white haired figure begins to rise. There is something disturbing about her presence that cannot be identified. The kind of disturbing presence that animals seem to sense but humans rarely do.

“Our space is wasting away,” she continues, with more emotion to her voice, her gaze beginning to sweep over the listeners. “And you know this comes as no surprise. This is a harsh reality you’ve known ever since you were born, and perhaps trying to protect your young from more than just the predators of your kind predestined by nature.” Her gaze is penetrating, as though she were speaking to the one to blame for all this, personified in a single audience. “If I wanted to say tonight that it’s gone too far, I would be hundreds of years late. But I will say it tonight. It has gone too far.”

She abandons the explanation, looking on ahead at the female figure next to her, who is now weeping. An eerie silence crushes the forest, even more than before. The woman’s slightly curly ash brown hair is covering the face of the male figure she is stooped over, too heavy to pick up. It seemed that through her tears and clenched gasps, her sorrow would never let her gather the strength to pick up another person, even if she could.

“Our King is dying,” the white haired woman says, returning to her emotionless state. She waits, as the gap of silence fills up with the sound of crying for a moment.

“Our Kings live with the acres of our homes,” she explains to the wary audience. “They die with the acres of our homes. Too many people outside the forest realm are trying to build walls, boundaries, and kingdoms of their own, and they are slowly killing themselves off as well, only unlike with our King, it will take much more time for them.

“Few Kings remain. There will be many of us, but there will be few of them. The future rests in our hands. I just wanted you all to be aware. More aware than you already are, of course. I’m only repeating elementary information to you, that you already experience every day in the losses of your habitats. We will have a funeral ceremony tomorrow at 6.”

Her sentence ends with the awkward weeping sound of the woman next to her. A line of women have begun filing out from behind her, of all kinds of hair colors, with children inbetween them occasionally. Each of the women hold what look like colored satin pillows in their arms ahead of them, their faces downcast, gracefully walking before the woman with the longest white hair. The children gaze up at them with a knowing curiosity.

Almost instinctively, the animals rush out, each in their own paces, in their own methods, almost mechanically. It seems that none of them think twice about the concept of predator and prey, at least for this moment in time.

A sprite, or some humanoid creature just big enough to fit in the palm of a human hand hand, flutters inches above the face of the white haired woman, and she nods for a moment. The sprite travels in the direction of the animals, but proceeds beyond the trees, into the heartland of the speaker’s message: a human village. Not a very developed human village at that, but clearly inhabited.

Description
The woods are stirring this evening, right around the time the sun sets. It’s rather disturbing. A brown rabbit pokes its head up form under the ground, its white nose wiggling against the air, right next to a fox, sitting dormant, its undivided attention splayed forward.

“Our woods are diminishing,” notes a figure with white hair, draped over its pale collarbone, all way down to its throne. One arm is draped behind the throne, and its other hand is used as a resting spot for the figure’s chin. From the way her red lips minimally move, following the somberness of her face devoid of wrinkles, one would suggest boredom, instead of concern.

Another figure sits next to her, still and silent. She blinks, staring; not at the furry, scaly, and feathered audience; not at the figure-like trees whose fingery branches swamp the gatherers tonight; not even on ahead.

The white haired figure begins to rise. There is something disturbing about her presence that cannot be identified. The kind of disturbing presence that animals seem to sense but humans rarely do.

“Our space is wasting away,” she continues, with more emotion to her voice, her gaze beginning to sweep over the listeners. “And you know this comes as no surprise. This is a harsh reality you’ve known ever since you were born, and perhaps trying to protect your young from more than just the predators of your kind predestined by nature.” Her gaze is penetrating, as though she were speaking to the one to blame for all this, personified in a single audience. “If I wanted to say tonight that it’s gone too far, I would be hundreds of years late. But I will say it tonight. It has gone too far.”

She abandons the explanation, looking on ahead at the female figure next to her, who is now weeping. An eerie silence crushes the forest, even more than before. The woman’s slightly curly ash brown hair is covering the face of the male figure she is stooped over, too heavy to pick up. It seemed that through her tears and clenched gasps, her sorrow would never let her gather the strength to pick up another person, even if she could.

“Our King is dying,” the white haired woman says, returning to her emotionless state. She waits, as the gap of silence fills up with the sound of crying for a moment.

“Our Kings live with the acres of our homes,” she explains to the wary audience. “They die with the acres of our homes. Too many people outside the forest realm are trying to build walls, boundaries, and kingdoms of their own, and they are slowly killing themselves off as well, only unlike with our King, it will take much more time for them.

“Few Kings remain. There will be many of us, but there will be few of them. The future rests in our hands. I just wanted you all to be aware. More aware than you already are, of course. I’m only repeating elementary information to you, that you already experience every day in the losses of your habitats. We will have a funeral ceremony tomorrow at 6.”

Her sentence ends with the awkward weeping sound of the woman next to her. A line of women have begun filing out from behind her, of all kinds of hair colors, with children inbetween them occasionally. Each of the women hold what look like colored satin pillows in their arms ahead of them, their faces downcast, gracefully walking before the woman with the longest white hair. The children gaze up at them with a knowing curiosity.

Almost instinctively, the animals rush out, each in their own paces, in their own methods, almost mechanically. It seems that none of them think twice about the concept of predator and prey, at least for this moment in time.

A sprite, or some humanoid creature just big enough to fit in the palm of a human hand hand, flutters inches above the face of the white haired woman, and she nods for a moment. The sprite travels in the direction of the animals, but proceeds beyond the trees, into the heartland of the speaker’s message: a human village. Not a very developed human village at that, but clearly inhabited.