You're walking through the forest.
Branches and needles brush against your face as you move through the darkening woods—though they seem a little less cramped than last time you were here. A low chorus of whispers murmurs out from between the trees, but you don't really notice. Somehow, you already feel like you know where to go.
The light fades to blackness and the whispers grow to a roar, and you could almost be walking through a twisting underground cave as unseen water rushes past—until you break through into a clearing and see the towering animal thing standing in front of you.
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It's just as it was the first time. An impossibly tall animal—except it doesn't look like any kind of animal you've ever seen. It stands almost like a person, but its whole body is covered in thick hair, or fur, or something, that softly ripples in a breeze you can't feel. Its "hands" are enormous and tipped with deadly claws, and its feet seem to grow like roots out of the ground. You can't see any sign of its head, which is lost somewhere in the canopy above.
You don't move, and neither does the creature. But as you watch it, you can't shake the strange feeling that it's watching you as well. You wonder if it remembers when you said hello to it—but then you wonder if something like this can remember anything at all.
Even so, the creature is so familiar to you that you feel as if you've seen it before—and not just once, but many times, even if you're not sure when or how.
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