Astor wandered through the forest, the warmth of the sun beating down on his coppery hair. The forest was quiet that day, a fact he was quite happy about. He entered a clearing he was very familiar with. It was a place he had come to often as a child and remained to that day one of his favorite locations. A small creek ran by one side of the clearing, and large ancient oaks surrounded the place with smaller bushes dotting the tree's feet. The clearing itself was covered in lush grass and tiny vibrant purple flowers. He plopped down right in the center of the clearing, intertwined his fingers behind his head, and let himself doze off to the music of the forest. He could hear a dozen different birds chirping and flying about, the rustle of large and small animals through bush and grass, the soft murmur of the creek behind him, and as much as he could hear and see the forest around him, he could feel it. The energy stored within this ancient forest. I flowed in and out of him, both sustaining each other. He could feel the warmth of the energy, the life, warming his every pore.