The lilt of a flute drew Myra into the stand of trees near the lake’s edge.
She chased the sound, eager to meet the musician. As she approached, her wood changed, trees multiplying until she could no longer discern the world beyond.
The trees became a forest, then died before her eyes, morphing into skeletal, burned out husks.
“No,” she cried. “My people…”
“I seek your forgiveness.”
Myra spun, seeking the voice’s source.
“This vision is our future under human dominion. Call forth your legions. They must not rise.”
As the illusion faded, Myra reached out to her Dryad sisters.
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
This drabble was inspired by the words forest, flute, forgiveness, along with the fires currently raging across America’s west.
This good, scary but good. I love the picture too.