This is the fun part!’ Nagí Dey called over their shoulder. In a sweeping gesture of their arms, the yellow cloud shot up to the sky, burst like a firework, and fell back again, coalescing into a familiar shape. It was a person. It was a child. It was a Nagí. It was – me.

I want you to remember this axe of yours, logger. I want you to remember the axe of your people, and what you did with it, stepping into onto sacred land. I want you to remember what you did to the tree by the river. What you did to this tree, too, and what you did to all the trees who came before.