Sun.
Moon.
I've grown a few leaves taller. The creature no longer has to shrink to meet me and it has long since taken the place of the old man. When the moon is out, a bright light shines through the openings of the cottage for a while before they are suddenly dimmed. I can see it move about, and sometimes, I can see it resting as it did in other odd things it had spent days making itself. Were the deaths of the trees worth the comfort? Could one feel comfortable using the dead body of such a grand plant?
The cottage is surrounded by little flowers now, budding and loud. I enjoy their prattle. The words of young ones remind me when I had first started to breach the ground to grow on my own.
