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

"Maybe we can only see, what our mind remembers. Nothing more, nothing less," Wraen suggested, looking around herself and seeing the ghost trees as grand and tall as they had appeared to her, when she had been a wee puppy. To anyone else seeing the same she did now, it would stand out, how disproportionally giant the trees were compared to the wolves. But then we have to remember that, when we are small, the world appears a lot bigger. 

"Energy - that's such a fancy way of talking," she remarked, smiling. When it came to living, all the talk about energies and sensing the invisible worlds and claims to being able to see the future and whatnot, was very amusing. The lengths people would take to make themselves more distinguished and important in the world than they actually were. But then - up until now she still had not figured out by, what laws the ghost-hood (-ship?) worked, so it was not entirely unbelievable that Vercingetorix truly felt that energy. 

"I never planned on being able to come here again. Therefore I have not the slightest idea, when will all of this be taken away from me," she shrugged. "Therefore I will use the time given to me well. Try to," though she knew that once this was over and she was to return, her ghostly self would not have any regrets. The contrasts, paradoxes and the art of abstract would fade away and she would enter the state of being permanently content. "What about you? Seal some unfinished businesses? Haunt some nasty people? Profess love to anyone you did not manage as a living person?" she asked. Plans were for mortals.