The first tree sprang at her, quite unexpectedly.
It appeared to be a tall, leering presence, black against the suns’ glow. The sky sheeted in jade and crimson, in ochre and gold, in delicate tendrils of mauve. So there were clouds left in the world, after all...
She moved aside to let the tree pass.
The next clump had to be rounded more cautiously. The fantastic notion was lodged in her head, along with the bells and the clamor and the hollow silence: the trees were sentient and walking and out to clasp her in their barky embrace.
She tried to stop, to take a breath, to force herself back to sanity.
Her legs refused to stop walking.
She went on, walking with her purposeful gait, walking on, unstoppable.
As she marched on with all the clamor bellowing away in her head and the muffle
