Do not fear what lives in the woods.

Ever since they moved to the proximity of the Whispering Woods, Frost Tear's parents warned her of the dangers of the forest. Never explicitly so, keep in mind, for legends and myths are perhaps one of the best ways to elicit a child's imagination. Tales of trees that walk on their own, that snatch up lost children, and poof, they are gone. On her eighth autumn, she found that trees were the least of her worries. Instead, it was they who shielded her from Fletcher's eyes. Her father took her mother's life, and if little Frost did not run and hide, hers too would be jeopardized. She could hear the trees whispering with the softest breezes as day turned into night. Her feet were numb with the pain of wandering, and her eyes burned as though they were still trying to cry. Exhausted as she was and kilometers into the forest, she mused the idea that she'd never be found as she fell and lay still on the ground. Midnight rose, and so did the girl. Her nightmares were ever-present, and in her mind, she could feel she was being watched; eyes in shadows, darkness seething in hunger. Silvery moonlight cascaded in areas not covered by the trees, and through them, she trudged until the clouds darkened the sky. Frost stood in despair as darkness crept in. She could not move a muscle nor think as her body locked up and her vision began to fade. She was all but lost when, out of a sudden, a guiding light flickered into existence just beyond her reach. It was no torch, it was no candle, it was the glow of an unnatural flame. Soft blue hues guided her steps, cold yet welcoming, eerie yet friendly. She found herself in a clearing, gravestones covered in moss and small blue flowers dotted the area between the trees. Orbs of blue light idly floated in the air, and amidst them was a statue. The statue of a stallion standing on watch over the graves. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Spoke the statue, raising one of its hands and plucking one of the scattered orbs from its path. The orb grew dimmer, and puff! It fluttered away from the statue's reach, the light now in the shape of a butterfly. Frost was stunned by the lights and the statue that moved and talked. She felt her body moving on its own as she stepped forward and drew closer. It knelt down to face her, and it was then that she realized that the white clothes it wore were natural. This was no construct. She felt the warmth of its touch as it laid a hand on her shoulder. This was someone. Something. "I am the Evergrowing, and you have wandered into one of my sanctums." His words sounded soft and gentle, possibly trying to assure the young lass that he would cause her no harm. Yet, she could barely move. "I.. Frost." Her voice was frail and barely audible even for herself, but a frown overtook the grey stallion's face. He stood up, his dull blue eyes focused on something beyond her. It took a few moments, but he lowered his gaze to her once more and offered his hand. Together, they walked back into the woods, the trees moving aside to make passage as they made their way through. He led her to the edge of the forest, and when she looked back, he was gone. A local huntsman found her in the morning and brought her back to the village. Pieces of Fletcher, her father, were found scattered and covered in vines near the cabin where he killed his wife.