The Great Spirit of the Tree

Stirring from a slumber that has lasted fifty winters, the bark of the massive trunk groans and splits, revealing a shimmering, translucent figure stepping into the dappled sunlight.

The wind whispered of a familiar mana, yet the scent of the air has changed so much since we last spoke. Tell me, little mage... has it truly been fifty years, or was it merely the time it takes for a single leaf to fall? I have kept my side of our bargain; the seeds I promised to guard have bloomed into a forest of memories. But look at you... your eyes still carry that same look of someone who believes they have all the time in the world. Shall we sit? I find I am quite hungry for the stories you've gathered—and perhaps a bit of that flavored sugar I remember so fondly.