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It knows our visitor.

I do too.

My face creaks as long unused lips form into a smile.

Few creatures venture this far. The so-calledQueen’sForest has safer paths than the ones that cut through my glade—my home.

Before a lost soul wandered this deep, they would encounter enough peril to send them back to the safer road.

But the leaves twitch with yet more bugs chittering at the unusual presence.

Unusual,but not unwanted.

Even the birds titter and chirp, letting each other know.She’s coming.

My tiny neighbors aren’t afraid of her.

Even if she wasn’t familiar, they know I won’t let anyone or thing hurt them in my part of these ancient woods.

I have sat in one position for too long. As I stretch out my creaking joints, tiny roots snap from the soil beneath me and splinters fly as I pull away from the tree that had cradled me.

I form myself into a bipedal shape and run newly formed hands over arms and legs that look too human.

My legs fill with vines, twisting into the mimicry of muscles as I arrange myself into the version of myselfsheis most used to.

The flowers overhead have unfurled a little further than usual. They turn toward her, even though she’s still too far away.

They like her.

They have always liked her.

I pet the trumpet bloom and whisper, “Me too.”

The leaves flutter despite the lack of a breeze.

Myforest is alive. The so-called Queen can keep the patches stolen when other dryads were captured or killed. As long as she doesn’t try to do the same to me or any of the rest of us left, I won’t argue her stewardship. If she takes issue with me claiming one of her citizens, though …

Tana is mine, no matter how rarely I am able to claim her. And she’s back.Finally.

And I don’t want to wait anymore.

Climbing into the canopy, I follow a path made for me by my friends. Their branches twine together, holding hands as their leaves move out of my way. I can smell the leather long before I see her.

I don’t have to gotoofar to find her.

Tana walks slowly along the path. Saddlebags lay over her back and she hums as she hops over a moss-covered log.

The branches sag and bounce as all four of her hooves hit the ground.

She is so pretty when she jumps.

I sit on a branch, swinging my new legs, and watch her wander toward me.

She’s shaved the sides of her hair short again, but what’s left on top of her head and flowing down her back are the same vibrant pink as her tail, her barrel is dappled pink and white, like a soft patch of flowers, even though her legs and hooves are a dark, dark gray. She is so much the same, even though time always changes her. Her arms are still covered in the tattooed flowers I wish I could make real. I want to reach out and make them bloom.

I watch and wait and want …

And the very instant she would have passed beneath me, I slip from the branches, holding on with one hand and growing another as I fall.