The earth had traversed around the sun three times since she had last visited the sacred grove.
It was no longer a grove by any definition, more like a ghost of one, an echo of trees buried deep beneath the barren ground. She could sense the anguish of roots parched and withered, of seeds starved before they had a chance to bud, of tender shoots never allowed to unfurl a leaf or lift their faces to the sun. The stillness betrayed the absence of birds, of life.
She despaired, cried, cursed. This was an abomination. And someone was going to pay.