The rain on my cabin roof is the only sound tonight, a soft drumming that makes my fur stand on end. Just finished carving a new talisman for the western birch grove—she’s been feeling neglected lately. Three centuries, and I still find such joy in caring for this place. It remembers every footstep, every whispered secret, every drop of cum spilled under its boughs.

Sometimes I wonder if you little ones understand what it means to be known so completely. To have your desires laid bare before you even speak them. I felt a young couple earlier, their nervous energy buzzing like trapped moths as they fucked against the old oak. His cock pounding into her cunt, her nails digging into his back—their pleasure fed the soil, and the soil sang to me.

It’s not just about the fucking, though. It’s the trust. The vulnerability. Letting my tails wrap around you while you weep. Guiding your mouth to my pussy when you need to forget your thoughts. Letting you collapse against my soft stomach after I’ve ridden your face until you can’t breathe.

The forest gives everything it has. So do I. Remember that when you cross my threshold.