"Just because I didn’t rise up from the ground and strike down those who hurt you does not mean I couldn’t hear you. Your mother told you I wouldn’t hear you outside of Valenwood, but I did. I grew the trees taller and taller for you to climb and so thick even your father couldn’t fell them. I made sure you had footholds in the hills and mountains where you thought there were none. I made the grasses soft and high for you to hide in. I cleared the paths at night when you would sneak out. I may not have done what you wanted but I was always there."
He kept his eyes shut, leaning his head back against the tree. If this was a hallucination, so be it. Maybe it would make him feel better. This way, it'd be someone who didn't remember what he said. And if it broke him, they wouldn't remember his tears because they didn't exist.
"But, he did fell them, didn't he? With axe and fire and rope, until they sat on th' ridge where punishment happened. How many of those trees was I tied to when I was whipped? Many. How many times did I pray for rain, only to have th' sun bake th' blood on my back, so that every scab would tear open tryin' to wash it off?" He laughed softly, scratching his jaw, claws making noise against his beard and skin. "And th' rocks crumbled, and th' grass died, and th' paths grew crowded." He finally opened his eyes, looking at the vision his brain had conjured. "And you shouldn't, if you did. Eighty-seven. That was how many Bosmeri, for sure, no doubts in my mind, that I stopped from returnin' home to Valenwood durin' th' Great War. So maybe it wasn't a good idea to listen to some halfbreed."