His head rose, eyes fixed on the black crackled bark. A fire had passed this way. While the grass beneath his paws spoke to the length of time since the fire, Varith was much more interested in the carnage that had ensued. His mint toned gaze traveled along from tree to tree.

“‘I am good, I am evil. I am hope, I am despair, my soul lives inside the mind and heart of the strongest.’” His voice was a whisper on the wind, a poem voiced for the simple purpose of being said. For communing with the damaged forest. “ ‘Yes I am the living hell amongst,’ said the fire.’ “