The Sentinels If forests could talk, what would they say?

Unbeknownst to Wraen, Vercingetorix had come to a very different conclusion.

This was a place full of ghosts, he thought. If you'd asked him in life, he would have sworn up and down that plants and trees didn't have ghosts like breathing beings did.

He'd been wrong.

Their energy shimmered all around, bright spots among the charred trunks and marred landscape of this forest. No one living could see this—he was sure of it.

Oh, God. He was getting too existential. Tended to happen when one had all the time in the world.

I gotta get out of here, he said dryly, before a glint of silver caught his eye. A woman, staring at something on the ground.

Maybe she hadn't heard him muttering to himself. Hopefully.