The dryad sleeps in slender stems, and new green leaves. Born of two souls mingled, the dryad dreams. One died for love of the land and a friend. One passed in her dotage, but was content in the end.
Xantwilla’s soul lingered where her charred stump remained. By love and fey magic was her spirit sustained. For Penny she waited — her life incomplete. She knew that one day, they would once again meet.
On a night blessed by the earth, her waiting was done. Born anew in a sprout, they were forever more one.