CZ Illustration: Chapter 8 - The Tampered Well of Hope

She looked up, eyes open. Needle-like trees ascended toward the steel sky above, all proud. They were trimmed so finely, sharpened to a point. Together, in juxtaposition to a circle of water and grass, they enveloped a central tree. Giant, gangly roots, and a lithe, yet sturdy trunk. It towered so high above her, maybe even reaching above the low buildings surrounding the enclave she’d entrenched herself in. The strange trees touched at her through the soil and roots, and she knew for certain that they had spoken to her. The warmth in her hindlegs thrummed, and the leaves of the great tree seemed to wave back.

Artist is RottenGotika.
Thanks again to Wolvan.

Fokienia recognized Cold by her side. He had stood with her, gazing at the trees as she had. He looked to her, analyzing. She opened her mouth, closed it. Said nothing.

Cold didn’t. “How do you feel?”

She asked herself the same question. Among the myriad of artificial answers at her disposal, there was only one natural, organic outcome. “Alive.”