Some local peasants warned me about cursed ground near their village. “Do not ever walk the paths in the goblin woods”, they said. They also told me about unsolved vanishings. But, I didn’t feel no fear. My love for the trees was stronger.
And now, it is too late.
This old elm, which I loved the most, keeps tearing me apart with branches, and sucking me through it’s hollow trunk, and whispering gravely to me: “Come and become our idol made of flash, blood and bone. Just like many before you.“