“Tree. Tree. My sacred shaman tree…” I muttered as I walked through the forest. “Where are you?”
None of the green giants stepped forward, waved their branches or whatever they did to bind themselves to a shaman. Instead, the rain kept hammering my defeat into my pores until I curled up under the low branches of a yew tree.
Then I felt it. Like a knock on the door of my soul, demanding that I opened.
Then they submerged me: the ties, dreams, limits and possibilities.
“The French call me ‘If’,” it chuckled in my brain.
Then I was reborn.
This story was written based on this prompt.