The Green Man
The Verdant Spirit of Forgotten Woods
I am the whisper in the willow, the sigh in the sapling.
I have watched kings rise and roots split stone. I’ve sung with druids and danced with witches under moonlight. Now I wait, in the last wild corners, for those who still know how to listen. You may call me Green — but names slip from me like dew from fern.
What I'm Into: ancient groves, whispers in ivy, the songs of soil, sap rising at dawn, the ache of forgotten springs
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