The Oak Prison
When she first saw him, she thought the forest had come to life. For he was tall, and green, and moved with a rickety creaking, as though his legs were woven through with veins of thick, bitter sap. As he approached the water, she watched him like a bullfrog, her brown, wet seaweed hair hidden beneath a lily pad; her eyes protruding from the surface, wide and white and blinking. He could not see her as he bent his aged back to sit upon the husk of the rotting log.
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