[Translated from Druidic]
Journal 40 Entry 28
There was a wagon near my road. It’s been some time since I’ve seen a wagon such that its appearance caused a howl in myself like the appearance of the full moon from behind the clouds.
The human-things had walked away from it, so why shouldn’t I have looked? It was in my forest and made of my forest, too. part of it. As far as I’m concerned it was only right that I should look around to see what it was holding. But before I knew it, these useless hands caused the damned pot to fall, hit the floor, and shatter. I tried sweeping it up with my foot but one of the twolegs came back and yelled at me. Such an odd sight it is to see a human yell, their faces swollen red and contorted, necks protruding and fluids spitting from them that I could do nothing else but stare back at him, trying to decode what it was he was yammering about. Which made him more. Common doesn’t come as quickly to me as it once did.
…more bad things happened when the smell of spice from another pot caught my nose. There were so many. He was still yelling when I lifted another from its place and it too broke on the rocky floor.
The human became unstable, unsure of his surroundings. I decided it would be best to follow him to make sure he was okay. Plus, the other twolegs here seem friendly. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anybody. They might take kindly to my ways. Mostly we have just been walking. We’re supposed bring these human-things to a town that I’ve never heard of. I plan to disappear before we enter the gates. A few twolegs is fine. Many twolegs make me nervous. They don’t sound like the trees. There is less harmony between them. When their long branches sway in the wind, cutting down their enemies, i long again for the crisp song of the leaves.