The journey to reach this- her lowest point- seemed to have taken her whole life. Aye, but it didn't feel as long as that slow dragging slide of her spine down the trunk of the Old Hornbeam Tree.
That godsend of a strong ally which seemed to have waited its entire existence to catch her like a perfect old gentleman. A Gentleman, who quietly hushed her with it's whispering branches, pined it's entire time to gingerly sprinkle a few leaves like handkerchiefs as she wept for a life she no longer wanted.
Even the other dead hornbeams about her seemed changed... entrusting their empty selves to her as she to them; all parties in gentle knowing catharsis. For there is nothing more hollow than the promise made to ourselves which we have not kept...