A colony of humans stamp around the grass, as if they own the very trees around them. A low rumble, getting closer and closer. I hold my family into a tight knit of comfort. My baby, vulnerable. My partner already lost.
Still their machines trundle forward, taking down each tree, like they were made of wire wool. Where once there was life, they have either scurried away or are truly lost.
My long arms wrap around her, but I fear I cannot save all of them. Burning oil, clouds of smoke: the tree we are hiding in judders, but it thin trunks cannot bear the weight.
I let go, I don’t mean to.
Sending her down, I bid my child to escape, perhaps to safety. I can’t be sure. The last I see of her is a long tail wrapping around each branch, as it unravels, each strand a forgotten wisp in time.
‘Be safe,’ she said, as the light fades from my eyes.
Writer Ravenclaw 
A sad tale.
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