“And so the cycle begins anew.” A voice rang out, coming from a solitary figure who was cast in a shroud of shadows by the dark veil of night. It knelt within the depths of an ancient forest in front of a tree of immense proportions. A mound of dirt, surrounded by delicately placed stones of all shapes and sizes, lay next to the tree’s branching roots.

Time passed on, with the usual sounds from restless cicadas and nocturnal predators absent. It was as though all of Nature’s children were unified in a period of mourning for one whose death came too soon.

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Once the third sun reached its zenith, the figure rose from the grave with the crackle of splitting wood.  What little sunlight there was accentuated the figure’s bark-like skin, highlighting the rifts that permeated its surface. With one last solemn glance at the unassuming burial mound, it turned and lumbered away.