Another

There was another.

I've heard of her. 

She walks with a limp. Stray eyes would slip and forget at first glance.

But I see straight through her.

Shes an unknown.

She's an Angel.

Not in the strictest sense of the word.

But an angel of The Wood.

I've watched her mend a burnt gash in bark, breathe life into a drooping toadstool. 

Call on the earth and grow a dozen black roses in the dead of December.

Just because she could.

I've seen her smile the way people do when they think they're alone.

Except I was watching and she could only assume paranoia at my presence. 

Tick tick tick went her intuition but she tamped it with a shaky smile.

She'll tack it as waylaid anxiety. 

Why does she ignore a dying tree?

All I asked was for her to turn around.

But she is too young to see.