When the Forest Calls Your Name

They say the forest whispers. That's a lie. It calls you by name.

Travelers vanish here, leaving boots, packs, everything but their

voices. I learned why when the trees started leaning closer to listen.

Carved into the bark were names. Fresh ones bleeding sap, old ones swallowed

whole by the wood itself. The forest doesn't just take people. It collects them.

Remembers them. And when you hear your name echo through those trees, something ancient

is deciding whether you belong to the world anymore or to it. If the woods call

you home, ask yourself who's really doing the remembering.