You’ve been here for a long time.

 

We remember it clear as day, the day a little child stumbled upon the roots of our soil. A little curious child, filled with wonders and innocence. You were searching, always searching.

 

What were you searching for? What was it that had your insides torn apart until they were visible for everyone to see? What was it that had your lungs screeching, scaring away the animals? An indefinable expression would paint itself across your human features, we believe humans call it ‘jealousy’, whenever you caught sight of a family of animals.

 

Nonetheless, we ruffled your head, saying, "We’re here. Nature is your friend." You never understood us, did you? Or perhaps you did. Unpredictable, that’s what you were to us. If we were to compare you to something, it would be the wild storm on a rainy day. A typhoon. You come fast, out of nowhere, and leave just as quickly. The cutting wind prevents anyone from growing close and destroys everything in its path, the rain meanwhile making enemies’ movements more and more sluggish.

 

That’s how you hunted as well. It’s a harsh world for living beings, especially for carnivores. There was no other choice but to kill other animals in the forest. You were small, young, yet you knew what you had to do. Using your visual senses and your small paws, you observed the fellow small animals, before going in for the kill. The bright grin you got whenever you succeeded was blinding. Bright and warm, as warm as the yellow orb standing high and proud in the horizon.

 

Eventually, you moved onto the big animals. The first one had wounded you with its talons in your moment of carelessness, but you managed to kill it off. Usually you would have been happy, but the red liquid gushing out of your arm did not sit with you well. Fangs grit, you swore to yourself not to let your guard down. And that’s what you did. You learned how to erase your presence, vanish from this plane of existence. But we are all-seeing, we could still sense you, even before your presence reappeared and your short limbs swung your weapon to kill your prey.

 

That’s how you lived.

 

Until that changed, one day.

 

Another human, just like you, entered our domain and discovered you. You seemed hesitant, but you followed them, out of our domain, our territory.

 

We remember being sad over your departure. Somewhere, we had hoped your small paws would reach for your weapon and finish this human off, sink your claws into raw flesh, treating this human like just another prey to hunt. That’s how the world worked for most carnivores; that’s what we had learned from our observations. Yet you never did. We remember crying and crying, until our tears had sunk deep beneath the ground, serving as our children’s nutrition. Would that be the last time we saw you, was what we kept asking.

 

Days passed, many, many days. Until you came back. You barely grew, yet something about you was different than before. Jumping from one of our trees’ arms to another, you whipped your head back and forth, eying the ground. Were you searching for something? No matter what it was, we would provide it for you, as long as it is within our capabilities. Your eyes fell on one of our children, and you step closer to kneel by the small patch of flowers.

 

“Would Heathcliff like these…” you muttered. An unfamiliar word. Is that what you learned out there with these humans? The way you carried yourself was so different than before. It was barely noticeable, but we could tell. It was more refined than before, your steps even lighter than before, and your speech had changed drastically. You sounded just like the usual human that would occasionally get lost in our woods. Tenderly, you plucked a few of the flowers out of our soil, smiling gently, before turning and leaving our space. Again.
 

Will you come back? is what we kept asking.

 

You come back and leave, again, and again, and again. Sometimes you come alone, sometimes you bring company; another human who grew higher than you did. Heathcliff is his name. Recently, there has been another human. Akira or Sage is what you call them. You seem happy.

 

Emotions we have never gotten to see from you before, suddenly unveil right before us. You still are that typhoon from back then, but it’s different now. Back then you destroyed everything inside and outside the typhoon. But now, you only damage the outside, keeping everything inside the typhoon safe in your cutting wind blades.

 

Even if you come and go, even if you barely acknowledge us—you can always come back here. Because we are your home. Sherwood Forest will always be a place you can return to.