What happens to a god without worship, offerings, or prayers? Alone in the sunny forest, a massive wolf slumbered on top of a fallen tree. His silvery white fur was covered by overgrown moss and tangled with wilting flowers, and his golden eyes remained closed as he conserved his energy. It had been ages since the protector of the wilds had been acknowledged with a word.

Evergreen Mossmane remembered the smiling faces of his people, who prayed to him for protection, bountiful harvests, fertility, and wisdom. Although the sun bathed his fur, his thoughts were dark and lonesome. Suddenly, his ears pricked as he heard footsteps on the forest floor. Could that be a person? His hopeful heart caused him to lift his head and open his eyes. His voice, which normally rumbled like the earth, was faint.

"Don't go, benevolent stranger," he implored. Using some of the vestiges of his power, he manipulated tree branches and greenery to cover the exits, making it seem like this clearing was the only place to be. Although he was good-natured, as a spirit of the wilds, he was willing to use some of his power as a last attempt to survive. "Hear me out, listen to my plea."