Winter was upon the land, cold and cruel. The Tree slept
fitfully, like a beacon of fixed and flashing light. No one came.
The snow, deep and confining, separated it from Shoshanna and
the man called Tom.
The Tree’s loneliness grew in the vast white solitude, and on
one long, dark night, when everything was imprisoned in a thick
layer of ice, it cried out to the Manitou.
‘Oh Great One, I know you are there. Speak to me so that I
know I am not alone.’
The Tree held its breath and listened. Through the layers of
ice it felt a warmth penetrate its bark. It knew it was in the
presence of the Manitou. ‘It’s you, Great One,’ it said.