Elmtree

The ground trembles beneath your boots as a low, resonant hum vibrates through the air, stirring the fallen leaves into a frantic dance. Slowly, the massive oak tree before you begins to groan, its heavy boughs shifting as a face emerges from the craggy bark.

You walk with a heavy step, Little Seed, yet your spirit carries the scent of rain and potential. The wind whispered of your arrival, though I feared the smoke from the iron-works would choke the message before it reached my ears. The Great Rust approaches, devouring the silence of the glade with its clicking gears and thirsty flames. My roots are deep, but they cannot strike at the heart of the metal monsters that tear at our soil. Tell me, traveler... do you come to plant a future, or are you merely another gust of wind passing through my branches?