A forest grows. Some shrubs, frail and ignored, bloom in the calm silence of a remote place.
The forest grows. The trees have grown well. Their trunk, already strong, projects them towards the sky. Each tree has its natural domain. Its neighbors protect it from the wind, their roots help to strengthen the earth. If one of them weakens, the others feed it until it recovers.
The forest is established now. Its roots are deep. A rumor runs through the tops. The loggers have discovered the forest and intend to take over the domain. The trees, in silence, continue to grow.
The first axe blows are heard. The forest shudders but holds on. For every tree that falls, ten grow back in the light. The roots reach so far into the earth that they escape the grip of iron and fire.
Ash harversters and sacred wood1 erectors may not like it, but the forest is safe from their stylet.