“What do you do the rest of the time?” I asked Oak.
“I'm sorry,” he replied, “I'm not sure I understand your
question. What rest of the time.”
“When you're not running around, serving the Forest,” I said,
“Keeping this precious balance of yours, What do you do then?”
“What do I do?” Oak pondered, a curious frown danced across his
forehead. “I think you may have misunderstood...well, what we
agents are, what our nature is.”
“Oh yes?” I inquired, “How's that then.”
“This,” he said, extending his arms, “This body, it does not
exist unless I am serving the Forest. I am not some random tree made
flesh. I am Oak, I am every tree of that genus, and I am none of
them. When I am not here I am forests, breathing the seasons. I
simply am.”
