Waiting

The forest was hung with grey sheets of mist, decorating her slumber with tranquility and a dead silence.

She came into the glades after the elder kin had abandoned it, burning and cleaning it to make it her own, a long time ago. So challengers had ventured into her domain. Few found her, and none ever left her.

The smoldering heat at the heart of the tree would keep her treasure as she slumbered, dreaming of nothing, remembering all. Waiting. Ever waiting.

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Even amundsen 2