This was the most beautiful part of the forest. Two majestic oaks
stood here, strong and tall, their branches forever entwined as they
reached towards the sky. I came here to remember you, and
to weep, and to hear your voice among the leaves.
And then, they came. They came to burn, to kill, to
destroy. I am told we had the victory, but at a price. The
price of lives, of beauty, of memories.
Now the oaks are blackened skeletons, twisted in agony. No longer
do their branches stretch tall.
There is no beauty here. Your voice is silenced.