The Sentinels “hope” is the thing with feathers

He wonders what brought about such tall tales, thinking a wolf to command elements beyond his control. A witch, bringer of storms...A charming story that teases imagination. Natjuk will entertain these thoughts later when the sun has withdrawn and nothing tends to him save the dark.

Considering the upturned turf again, Natjuk knows green will return here. It is a matter of time. How life will surge back into these trees, however, is an alien process. Can they be restored? Are they doomed to stand hollowly forever?

There is a raucous crack deeper within the stagnant weald. He looks in that direction for a split second. The only thing that can heal this place is time, much like more cognizant species.