Hushed Willows not idly do the leaves of lorien fall

There was great magic in the tree, whose boughs danced and sang in the sweet sussurrus of the wind. It would be enough to lull her even were she well rested. In her state, it had her yawning almost immediately. Larkspur offered her food before her departure, beating back another yawn, Starbuck said, that would be so kind of you. Thank you, Larkspur, thank you so very much.

And with that, she lay her head down and was folded into the warm arms of sleep.

She dreamt that the willow was an old man. His fur was made of the green willow-fronds, his eyes and claws were chips of bark. The language he spoke was not one her ears could understand, but where they failed her heart succeeded. He spoke to her mind, to the eye that was her mind, and she saw glimpses of what was to come, and she learned from him some of the magic only the trees knew.

Starbuck woke suddenly, and could not find what exactly had woken her. She lifted her head to peer at her surroundings, searching first for Larkspur's presence.