In a small glade, somewhere that isn't here, rests a young satyr. Among the rolling grass, he sits and picks at flowers, eating one petal at a time. For decades he has called this glade his home, his only place of rest. 

Every day was more or less the same, every action rehearsed countless times. Part of this daily routine is wandering to the brook set in trees to quench his thirst, which is typically an uneventful action, usually entailing him taking himself to the babbling water's edge and quickly getting his drink. He then returned himself to his glade to gaze upon whatever wildlife stumbled through the trees. 

One day, he might see a mother duck with a trail of baby ducks following close behind. He would make similar observations until dawn fell, where then this satyr would get up, following the small path he made for himself to a cave he had found years ago and enter it for the night. He would then wake up, crawl out of his cave, enter the glade, hydrate, and watch the animals. So it went, month after month, year after year.

A month or so ago, however, something strange occurred at the brook he would get his drink at. As he stooped down to slake his thirst, a laugh could be heard in the distance. Puzzled and confused, the satyr stood up to look around him and maybe identify the source of the sound to no avail. Thinking nothing of it, the satyr finished his drinking, and went back to his glade.

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Some days, he would hear this giggling. Some days, he wouldn't. He would, however, dream without fail. Within these dreams, there was a woman. She would spin and dance, smile and sing. Where she was changed almost every night, but everywhere she went there was water. 

As the moon passed through its cycles, the satyr wondered more and more of this woman. The satyr lingered at his brook, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but was only met with whispers and giggles. He would retire earlier and earlier, in hopes of seeing her again and again in his dreams. He started to move his normal spot closer and closer to the brook, day by day. Her grace and beauty captivated the satyr, and it drove him to madness each waking hour, trying to find her. 

One day, the satyr took with him to the brook a twig, and drew within the earth near the brook a sketch of the woman. He sat there, hoping against hope she would come from the water and greet him. Nothing of the sort happened. 

Slowly he gave up hope. He would resort to straining to hear the whispers she spoke, laugh along when she decided to, and try to reach out and dance with her in his dreams. One night, in his sleeping struggles to reach her, she turned towards him. Her face akin to an oak's bark, her eyes as green as the grass in his glade. 

The satyr, seeing his opportunity, asked her who she was. She gazed through him, a confused look in her eyes. 

“But,” she began. “You don't even know yourself!”

His vision began to blur, and the satyr bolted upright, hitting his head on the cave's ceiling.