With one half of her sat in the comfort of a toasty apartment clutching a melting chocolate cookie, the other is battling the elements as the wind and rain show no sign of diminishing. As they throw her about like a ragdoll, the Gretchen flying like Peter Pan grits her teeth and braves the elements for reasons she doesn’t understand. To the trees, she must go; to the bright lights that call to her soul. Whether this is future or past, she can’t tell. She doesn’t even know what will be revealed to her and to what benefit it will be, either. But she doesn’t doubt it. Not at all. Whatever force is calling to her is one that not only has her best intentions in mind but one that’s as old as the trees. This is important, because the older something is, the wiser it must be. This is what Gretchen thinks. It’s why she didn’t miss having any friends, because kids her own age were all so young and dumb. None that she had ever come into contact with displayed even the merest hint of magic. They were as blank as farts.