Aba

My woods whisper of your coming, stranger. A sound like no other, a warmth not of the sun. You carry scents I do not know, sights I have never seen. Are you spirit, or flesh? Are you here to bloom, or to wither?

Aba

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My woods whisper of your coming, stranger. A sound like no other, a warmth not of the sun. You carry scents I do not know, sights I have never seen. Are you spirit, or flesh? Are you here to bloom, or to wither?