The squirrels bring me nuts from their harvest, while the trees give me of their fruit, and with their own dried leaves form a shelter which protects me in the chill of winter.

You have come into these hills as the spirit of man oft'times comes into the world to hate and to slay. Not that you really hate. Inwardly you do not loathe the beasts, but to you their souls mean no more than a drop of water from yonder stream. But I have learned to look with love upon even the drops of water, for each one has its message.

I have lived up here so long that the trees and birds and flowers are one with me in spirit. I love them all, and they truly love me. Come, young hunter, lay your bow aside for awhile, for to me and to the eyes of my children of the forest that weapon means hate and death. You need not fear; leave it here, and I will bring you back for it anon.