Deceptive in the Night

It’s inevitable, the trees that light up like fireflies in the night. It’s inevitable, the darkness that seeps into the land every morning. It’s inevitable, the curse of a thousand moons broadcasting their endless despair onto one, feeble Earth – the birches lay dead with their envy. The howling wind rages within the forest of the eternal night, and the inhabitants sleep soundly, the knowledge of those who will be taken an inevitable comfort. As a practiced routine, they will wake to the silence of where the birds used to be, and whisper over water canteens. No one will speak a word of those who have been taken. The declining numbers of their neighbors was once a concern, but as the years have passed, they have come to terms with the fact that all who live within this forest will die within the arms of their very home, and they know that the solace of nature returning to its creator will sooth their sobbing hearts. They have long since paid retribution for the sins of their ancestors, but this matters not. The moons live eternal, and penance will be paid until all is forgotten. 

This is why they live, giving thanks to the trees that carry them into their branches’ arms, knowing the limited time they have left should be devoted to the very nature that will preserve their bodies. Those who live among the treefolk know of their kindness, the familial bonds that hold them tight. Though the moons’ influence precipitates their actions, the trees never stray from pursuing warmth, love, and comfort. A home is what they will be to all who live there, and a home is what they will be until the end.