I remember the first time I saw her. She was trailing her long arms through the underbrush, her fingertips lingering on passing petals, as she strode through her forest of brilliant glowing elms. Her trees were white like ash, and the night sky would silhouette behind them in swathes as black as india ink. There she remained, watching me from the safety of the forest canopy as I worked in the fields.
Sometimes I would catch a flicker of her eyes in the early morning before the sun had risen; when all of the animals were as silent as the dead; when a blue glow was barely beginning to bleed across the retreating night, curving around the surface of the illuminating earth. She would always keep her distance.
She was tall, as tall as the trees she lived amongst; her head extended above those of the forest saplings, and her limbs were lithe and wiry. The distended proportions of her body seemed to only further my interest in her, although I did not know what sort of interest it was: the vil