text: My secret was suddenly split open when a cloaked man approached me with my birth name. This name was written somewhere safe, secret in the forest. There weren’t many of us in these recent times, those who honored the trees. The young man approached with his spine pulled up tall and shoulders square with a jar full of opaque, gold, thick liquid in his hand. His vibrant, green eyes bore into me, making the hair on my neck stand on end. There was a glimmer of knowledge, and I felt as if he was a wolf and I a rabbit. I had felt the liquid approaching but was unsure as to how. The tree held my secrets; I suspect the man was aware of this. Let me take you back about 10 years. I was in my early 20’s running from a life of abuse and captivity. In my desperate need for escape, for freedom, I ran to the woods that was warned about in hushed whispers. Looking back, I can see the naivety in my actions; however, I also knew whatever I ran into, even the most feared and hated wood, it was better than where I had been. Once I dashed past the first few layers of the trees the wood enveloped, captivated, enchanted me. Somehow it even guarded my ears from the yells and screams of those who hunted me. This is what the elders of the manor had warned about, this hazed and distant feeling that overcame you once you stepped into the demonic forest. The smell of it drifted into my nose like a warm, muddy day on the farm, but instead of feeling terror the aroma made me feel as if I was being gathered up in the most inviting way. Instinctively, I knew I needed to keep climbing over the roots and stumps to make it deeper into the woodland. With each labored step that took me over branches and gnarled rocks, I was looking upwards towards the sky while tripping here and there. I couldn’t see much of the sky but to me it appeared as a canopy of open dreams. The different hues of green captivated me, they shimmered and shined as the sun leaked through the small cracks between the leaves and branches. It was enough to keep my brain distracted from the conflict growing within me. All my life I was warned that this place was dangerous, that this place would ruin and kill me. As I walked through it, I continued to feel more at peace than I had ever been in the most sacred sanctuaries in our town. This baffled me. According to my teachings I should be terrified now due to the fact that I had traveled for more than a few hours into this forsaken forest. Ironically, I felt the safest I had felt in all my life. I don’t know if the forest protected me or the men had just lost hope of finding me, but eventually I was no longer able to hear the cries of those hunting me. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t just the life of the forest guarding me, the men were truly gone. It felt as if the thick, aqueous, albeit invisible shield that had been protecting me and muffling the noises had disappeared. The most prominent sounds were the wind whistling past the branches and the leaves fluttering in a consuming sound of singing and laughter. Without knowing what the environment and its beings were talking about in the breeze, I could feel they meant me no harm. At the farm the men mostly ventured into the wood to cut down trees for houses, carts, and firewood. They would speak of men being ripped apart by the trees and warn the small children of the dangerous trees. They spoke of trees coming to life and chasing them, murdering them. In my short time in this wood, I did not feel the same terror the men rumored existed. I felt as if the canopy and trunks were opening up and inviting me in. After a few more hours moving towards an unknown destination, I realized I was growing weary after the adrenaline to keep running away from danger had diminished. Coincidentally, it happened at the moment I found a small patch of grass, no bigger than a large bed, beneath five of the most welcoming trees. They were twice my height; bark marbled with whites, browns, and blues; and their swaying branches covered the top of the grass perfectly from any sun poking its way through. I laid down and slept for an unknown amount of time. When I awoke, five trees had become eleven. They appeared to have shifted around me and blocked me in. Their curiosity about my human form was palpable, I am fairly sure humans had never made it this far alive. They were watching me with interest, not malice. “Ummm... hi..... trees”, I eventually squeaked out of my voice box. “Welcome”, their leaves sang in unison in a melodic chorus. I froze. Confused. Did I just hear their leaves talk? “Mhhmmm”, their branches nodded and hummed. Frozen, blank, because my question was not spoken. How can they read my mind? “We are you and you are us” they informed me, but this answered less questions than it created. I must have held a blank, baffled expression. How could these things, these trees be me? How could they be me, I be them, and we be us? This was a confusing moment for me. The trees just continued to sway and dance in the gentle breeze. Still, I felt a complete lack of fear, just confusion. I knew I was still safer here than back on the farm. One of the trees shifted around one of the much larger eleven trees to shyly peer at me with unseen eyes. Needless to say, the humanoid-like movement of the tree caused me to scream like a princess while my vision got very fuzzy and discolored. Next I remember waking up in the lovely soft grass that had somehow grown even plusher. The same tree was bending at the groove where the trunk meets the branches to look down over me. “hhhhhhh----aarrrreeeeeee yooouuuuuu oooooooooook?” The leaves on it breathed in slowly. “Startled, but ok” I told the tree and its leaves. We both looked, if you can call what this tree was doing looking, at each other. I shifted in the grass, sitting up, and looking around to see if the other trees were still there. Nobody else had moved. I didn’t know where to go from here. I didn’t know what to say. The tree broke the silence but instead of speaking aloud I heard him in my heart, or was that my brain? “I want to keep you safe, to protect you always. Let me have your true name to keep within my branches, sealed within my bark, and you will be free of the prison you were sold to”, he pleaded with me in an earnest tone. Without hesitation I told this friendly, young tree, “I believe you, please, take my name”, and so the tree wrapped its branches around me tightly. Its bark sliced into my skin and then itself ripped open. My blood seeped into its sap and its life slipped into me. This is where my true name has been for the last few centuries, that is until the man standing in front of me recently walked into this place. I was simply craving a lovely meal before my journey at the cafe below my lodgings, but this stranger had to make an entrance and an interruption. I watched this man with the jar of thick, golden liquid continues to walk towards me. My face remains flat, emotionless, or at least I hope for the tree’s sake. My concern was about what happened to the tree that chose to have a human as its life mate. Was the tree still alive? Is the tree simply hurt? What happened to my partner? The man clearly hunted me down for a reason, I just hope for his sake the forest is unharmed. The forest was my family after the events in the glade. For the first time in a long time, I do not feel safe. I do not feel safe with my own kind like I did with the supposed frightful wood. “Sit”, he finally demands while waving his hand to a nearby table. I saunter over to the recommended table, and sit at the one next to it instead. A staff member brings a plate of the fluffiest pancakes I had ever seen stacked into four towers, a bowl of scrambled eggs, several bowls of fresh fruit, sausage patties, stacks of toast, sizzling bacon, and freshly churned butter to the table. She sets everything down, lays the place setting with knives, forks, plates, then gives a small curtsy to the man, and swiftly turns and walks away. “Not yet” he commands the young, shaking girl. “Coffee, black for me, some for my guest here, as well as a pitcher of orange juice”, he states without looking at her. She scurries into the kitchen. The man had been leaning on the back of the chair opposite the table from myself. He continued to move the jar of liquid in his hands, never taking his eyes off me. He then steps to the side of his chair and before sitting down, slams the jar on the table causing the plates and bowls to jump off and back down. Nothing spills or falls off the table. He then sits slowly laughing at nothing in particular. “I don’t know about you, but I adore having my pancakes swimming in syrup”, he announces while slowly removing the lid from the jar, “Are you ready to have breakfast, just the two of us? Oh my apologies, three of us” he speaks with wicked pleasure.