The Sentinels I don't hate you but I just want to save you.

The ruins of a forest rose out of a haze, the fog so thick that her first thought upon seeing the burned and blackened trees was, 'do they still burn?'

The further she went the more she expected to smell the heavy aroma of charcoal, however, the aroma of the distant sea was the strongest, netted between the trees. As she crept beyond a series of monolithic sequoias, she peered heavenward and saw that one was bracing the other; half of the suspended tree must have crumbled away, perhaps split and hit the dirt, because there was nothing left. Parvati was quick to remove herself from that position in case the earth gave a shudder, or the trees finally gave up to gravity.

But for all its ruin, there was a wild charm to the place. The density of bright new growth had overtaken much of the blackness. There were young trees clustered in the shadows of their fallen ancestors — two years old, maybe more, she could not be certain. Sections of gutted logs had been overrun by ferns, vines, brambles, and as Parvati investigated these clusters of life she could find no trace of smoke.