She walked, barefoot, across a carpet of moss. Her song – soft, haunting – danced on a breath of air, spun through the wood.
Only the trees observed her, their bony fingers scraping across her skin, clutching her hair. Dead leaves chittered nervously, a lament for other lost souls. She seemed not to notice, hypnotized by the enchantment in the air.
She sang, even as vines wrapped around her and bore her to the great old oak. She greeted it like an old friend.
“Hello, lover,” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you.”
It stood wide to receive her, molding itself to her as she pressed into it. Washed in the moonlight her features were transformed into gnarled bark. Her song ended only after the tree was whole once more.
Somewhere in the forest is an ancient oak tree with a human face. The legends say that once upon a time, the Eternal Sleeper reached out from its slumber and called a young maiden to itself. It is said that when the Lonely Moon shines upon the Sleeper, you can hear her singing still.