She tended her garden well, as she always did. This was her forest, her plants, her garden, her trees. It surrounded the tree she called home, the tree her soul was linked with, the place she could never leave, and could never imagine wanting to.

Some call me Kannoran. Others, Dral’gathach. Others still, Bassant. I don’t belong here.

The smoke pours from the tower. It’s all your fault. You know it is. You can’t help but bury your head in your hands and cry. Years of work just went down the toilet. Sure, the creature is alive and showing all signs that everything functions just like you wanted, but that does no good when it’s burst out of its cage and set fire to your lab. Your funding just literally went up in flames.