I made it to Sopherocles by dusk, and found the sage in the bark awaiting My arrival.
I wanted to seek her advice on how to become a killing tree after I died. Preferably, I would specialize in unsuspected vengeance.
Within My foliage would be an armory laden with timbered bayonets–camouflaged and ready to gash the eye sockets of defilers of dreams and butchers of innocence–human tumors of which I have no remorse surgically incising from the face of this density.
She looked at Me with her infinite gaze, and whispered into My left ear, "Maybe you should be a dandelion instead."