Long has it haunted the shadowed paths of the deep woods, creeping, learning, knowing... long enough, anyway, so who cares. It found itself wondering at the patterns of the tall men and their metal teeth-saws, their animals and buildings — wondering why it was that they seemed never to have enough, to fray at the edges. And so, when things frayed to an extent, it would... mend. A small, trimmed rabbit. A set of shoelaces. A spare copper coin under a bucket. Sometimes it overheard whispers of the Fey folk in its wake; others, talk of a kind parent or uncle, or a turn of good fate from the gods. It cared not for this. Community: that is what the forest needs to survive. The network of all living things in their own part, ripples in a pond, leaves on a tree, lightning dancing through the mycelial lattice to which they would all return...