[Lyra Greenleaf]

The light dappled the old beech, and the breeze gently blew its leaves. The old tree let out a groan. Anyone watching might have thought it was just the wind bending the branches, but it was the tree itself. There was a feeling of unhappiness and unease about the grove itself. Grudges built up for years and years, anger and bitterness. It was the huge beech that was at the centre of it all, just as his size overawed the smaller trees growing around it. Over the long years of his life he had kept a record of every time he had been burnt, hacked or damaged by a man. There was a vague recollection of better times, perhaps movement, even talking, communicating to the trees and…Ents. The word came to his head from the vestiges of old memory, back in the hazy past. It seemed to be an important word, something that meant something. He often felt this way, like there was a memory, a feeling, just out of reach. But it was all a long time ago. With another groan the tree settled down, but rage festered in his core, deep down.