“If trees could talk,” Sandra thought to herself, “this one surely would tell me ‘mtre Wond Tuuet.'”

The last of the day’s light was fading as the frigid air bit her pointy nose.

“I wish that trees could talk to me,” Sandra giggled to herself as she wiped away tears with the corner of the corduroy comforter she’d found in the garbage.

Her stomach groaned with displeasure as her heart quickened with fright.

“Come on, trees, talk to me!” Sandra screamed into the empty night as she dripped with sweat.

Her sobbing was already forgotten as mtre Wond Tuuet.