Celvi pressed her ear to the ancient tree.

  It had endured a thousand storms and a thousand more winters, it told her. Yet last night's tempest had proven too much to bear, even for one whose roots ran deeper than any other in this glade.

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  She closed her eyes, shed fresh tears that rained upon the poor thing's exposed roots. The teardrops caught the dawn, briefly shone gold before they shattered.

  What came next was little more than a formality.

  Black fingers writhed and retreated from the places where her tears fell.