It is late at night, but the forest is alive with excitement. As the birdsong wind rushes through the trees they can be heard whispering. The rush of sound is subtle and almost silent until every rustle of the leaves harmonizes, and together it all forms a name.

"Briiisaa."

If she comes to the call she will be led to one tree in particular: the oldest one, so old that it has gained a sentience of sorts. Her branches are low and cradling, her roots twisted and breaking through the ancient soil, but despite the massive shadow she casts and the bright swath of moonlight that paints her sloping spine she has never before been seen. After all, in woods as dark and maze-like as these, its easy to lose a fixture of Helovia's past--especially if it does not want to be found.

But tonight the woods part and the moonlight, so bright that it mimics the sun, outlines a path for the Hidden Falls Mason. Brisa is welcomed and a rare sight is revealed to her alone, should she arrive. Again the leaves whisper, again the wind tugs at the mare's resting place. "Briiisaa," the old tree calls again; "Briiisaa," the forest chants in unison.

Leave behind the babbling waters of the Falls for one night only, stray from the comfort of the herd, and wonders await. Deep in the glowing knot of the tree, a spot in its heart, is a gift for those who honor nature, who wait with patience, and bow their head with humble grace.

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Can trees smile if their lips are only a thin sliver of bark scraped off by the passing of time? Certainly this old one wishes to when the mare of honor arrives. Instead she bows her boughs in deference, yielding to the efforts of a much younger spirit.

The trees whisper again, but with Brisa closer now they need not scatter their voices so far. The greeting is unified and clear, honed for this very moment. "Brisa," the branches speak when she looks closer, "we have waited so long for a young soul like yours."

And when the forest says that she is young it means it, for in comparison to this old tree Brisa has only just been born. Still the tree is kind and she reaches out to the mare with limbs like arms and twigs like hands, leaves like fingers, to embrace the dappled mason.

The night is not cold but it is clear and in some ways empty. Brisa has loved and lost, and the care she looks for up above will not be found so readily. Here in the loving arms of nature, though, there is always warmth.

"Brisa, why do you think the forest has called you here tonight?" the ancient she-wood asks as seventeen small dark knots scattered across her wide trunk seem to blink as a cloud passes and casts shadows over them. The question is important, but her answer even more so. The stars and the spirits held within them are watching--so too is the glow in the heart of the elder tree.



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Humble, even in the face of great honor. Is it not clear to the mare, at least now, that she is special? The wind blows for her, the canopy speaks her name, and still she is oblivious to the greatness in her heart.

The forest sighs, and with its breath the great tree before Brisa shudders and slowly begins to unravel. Her knotted limbs twist apart from each other and peel outwards; she unfurls like a night blossom. The glow in the knot of her central heart is revealed and it is beautiful. It exists as pure energy, an outwards clamoring wave, and searches for Brisa's own heart with sticky, loving fingers.

"Oh Brisa," the tree hums as her branches fold out and press their spines against the dirt, "you've been called here so you can be blessed."

And with that, the magic resting inside Helovia's old tree rushes forth as if finally guided to where it belongs after so many years. Light pulses and warmth fills the mare who cannot see the beauty in her heart, who maintains humility even when she shines the brightest. The warmth that fills her is unique and loving, forever entwined with an old tree's spirit even at the site of its death. The branches and trunk splinter and dig into the earth, becoming roots to nothing and sacrificing their energy for Brisa's reward. If she listens carefully, she will hear the last words the tree will speak until it rises again from a fresh seed, long after all here are dead: "Live well, and know you are special. Nature is with you now."

The night stills, the whispers fade, and the moonlight dims to normal. The path home reveals itself and a night with new power begins.

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