It wasn’t the whistle of wind past twigs or the soft grind of wet snow that haunted the Mossman’s leafy ears, but the Crows voice that echoed between the bare trees and through the birsk wind as they made their way through the winter forest.

“For countless years I’ve watched over your lifeless body as the forest took you up as its own. Great cities have risen, and fallen on this planet. Do not remember yourself?”

“I do not.”

The Mossman’s words were like the crunch of dried leafs.

“The trees tell me you are the protection of the good in this world.”

The Mossman stopped in the snow.

“Only the evil defines the good.”

“Wise words Mossman, there is indeed a new evil upon us. I belive this is the very reason you have finally awoken.”

Pearl white snow began to fall from the grey sky above, coating the Mossman in a blanket that contrasted greatly with the jet black crow. His twig-like fingers brushed it off his head and shoulders as he and his companion neared a white field.