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For thousands of years she slept, unmoving, beneath the hill. For thousands of years she dreamt of awaking, of stepping out of the dark, damp earth that nurtured her and walking once more through the lush green forests of the waking world. She dreamt of sunshine warming her skin, of the scent of flowers carried on a soft breeze and the sound of birdsong.

Above the hill, wars raged, forests burned, blood flowed, ashes were carried on the winds and the sound of machinery drowned out the few remaining birds.

In her sleep, she wept.

© Kari Fay

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