On a dull autumn Tuesday afternoon, she was walking down the main street of the mountain village she was born and had spent her whole life in. The rain was softly falling in hazy drops on the village and the surrounding forest; it was impregnating her thick hair, dripping in the neckline of her frock coat to stream down the length of her backbone. Everything was tedious, gloomy and decidedly dull. It was yet another day inexorably dying in this forsaken place where nothing ever happened; yet another day enduring the monotonous routine of a mountain dweller’s child. With a sullen sigh, she sank her head deeper in her shoulders, dug her clenched fists in her  pockets and quickened her already nervous pace.

She dreamed of the city and all the opportunities it had to offer, a life full of commodities, diversity, lovely clothes and big apartments, careers and modern transportations. Her village was set in stone. Time did not trouble it; change was not a word that made any sense here. The only link they had with the world was a monthly journey taken by one of the elders: he would get his horse, attach an empty cart to it and ride down the only road that led out of the village to go to the nearest city – a day’s trip. He would come back a few days later with the cart full of books and newspapers, fabrics and provisions of stuff one could not grow or make in the mountains – those were the only luxury the villagers could afford. No one ever bothered to come up here, and no one dared to leave. The village’s council made a good job scaring young children out of wanting to go away, and as they grew up, even the beautiful pictures in the magazines and the amazing stories in the books would not open their eyes to anything else but the surrounding white tops and green peaks they had known all their lives.

She couldn’t help but think she didn’t belong here, amid those cold and lugubrious mountains. For one thing, she was way too tall for this tiny village, where the habitations had been built in a time when the average height was equal to that of a tolkienesque hobbit. With all the one hundred and eighty-three centimetres of her stature, she felt like Gulliver on Lilliput – trapped against her will on too small an island for her big feet. Her native land itself wasn’t so unpleasant at first appearance: the majestic hillocks permanently capped with white velvet as pure as the sky’s virginity in the summer, when the clouds were lower than the ground and the azure sea appeared atop the heads, immaculate and luminous, would have given wings to any would-be Icarus. But when mist reclaimed its rights and the green flanks bared themselves to the bones, the mountains engulfed all hope and all joy, and the feeling of claustrophobia that ensued had already rendered mad more than one soul. Thus, just like the closed landscape that bordered her, she was surrounded by people with restrained imagination and vision hidebound by steep blinkers.

She was different. All the books she had read made her wish for the world. She wanted to get out of those rocky walls that dominated her on all sides and go to see the ocean, this smooth immensity sloshing under the radiant sun of the South. She wanted to sink her bare feet in the warm sands of the Egyptian desert, right next to the Pyramids. She imagined herself running in the unbounded rice fields of provincial China, swimming in the deep icy waters of the Irish lakes, or pedalling on the flat distances of Holland, with only horizon as far as the eye could fathom, all the space necessary to grow and assert oneself. She fantasized over the vast expanses of desert plains in the American West, where the only obstacles to the visual nothingness were some isolated cactuses and other lonely heaps of rocks. She wanted freedom and adventures.

Thus lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized that she had gone beyond the village’s limits. At first she wanted to turn back, but she quickly changed her mind and decided to take this given opportunity: her steps had led her out of the village; she was going to follow them on the path to the adventure they were offering her to live. So she kept on walking for a few miles on what was used as a road in this forgotten corner of the modern world, then decided to spice up her discovery by venturing into the undergrowth that bordered the way. She had never gone so far in that direction, and soon she lost sight of the road. But it mattered little to her:  she was discovering a forest that, although similar in appearance to those which guarded her little village, diverged in tiny a priori insignificant details but actually o so spectacular. Here, the grass was of an exquisite green and each tip of each blade was coloured in resplendent carmine, giving the impression of a sea of tiny poppies. The trees were much older and more gnarled than those she had spent her youth climbing in; they intermingled with one another as if they were dancing with or embracing each other. Here the radiant sun made its way through the density of the foliage, falling in dusty rays full of microscopic life on the mossy ground.

As she went on walking through the deep shades, the sounds around her started to transform into a wonderful melody: the song of the birds took on an orchestral amplitude, to which was added the rhythmic languor of the crickets and the patient rustle of the leaves agitated by a serene breeze. The air was getting warmer by the second. Soon she felt she wouldn’t need her coat anymore, and her shoes seemed too heavy and cumbersome; so she took them off, and spent a minute appreciating the contact of the moist and tender soil under her soles; the balmy draught on her arms gave her joyful goose bumps. There, her face bathed in light and her feet sunk in the earth, she felt alive for the first time in her young life. All these years spent scurrying through the forest and climbing trees to read her books in peace and therefore avoid the vicissitudes of her boring life as a milkmaid, helping her family make cheese – their glorious inheritance and future... – hadn’t prepared her for such happiness. She began to run, thus going further into this enchanting forest. The music of life grew stronger and faster with each of her heart beat. She climbed every rock and hill with a long forgotten joy and a curiosity she thought had withered away over time. She was eager for discovery and adventure.

After a while, she found herself on the sandy bank of a small river. It was flowing freely among the trees, here softly with some deep pools where one could easily enjoy a bath and a swim, but she could hear the rumble of a cascade upstream. She followed the river in that direction. It was meandering through the forest; on each side of it grew tall and strong trees bent over it as if they were trying to look at their own reflection in the cool water. They had knots and holes in their trunks, and thin long hair-like branches heavy with deep green leaves that fell so low they were bathing in the stream. Various kinds of mushrooms were popping up here and there on and around their roots, sometimes forming small circles as though planted that way on purpose. Small white flowers appeared among the red-tipped grass, and the soft breeze made the whole picture look like little fairies were dancing on a strawberry sea. She soon found the place where the water was cascading down a heap of rocks. She climbed alongside them and found herself on a higher plateau. The grass here was different, plain green but shining like billions of emeralds. The trees were bulkier, with giant leaves of a deep dark red and bark of a lighter shade. The river was wider, and she could see the sky as blue as the purest topaz reflecting in its bed, a perfect image of the line it was creating above the treetops. Giant dragonflies were chasing each other in the reeds alongside the shore and she could hear the call of frogs echoing from one side to the other. She washed her face with the clear cool water and drank it. It was the sweetest taste she had ever experienced, soft and pure, with fruity hints and lightly earthy and mineral. As she was drinking, hovering over the crystal water, she could feel a thousand eyes laid on her, but the benevolence of their stare made her unafraid and more daring. She found a shallow passage through the water and went on with her adventure on the other side of the river.

She found her way through more undergrowth. The slope she was hiking on was slippery and she fell over a couple of times, but she couldn’t care less. The perfume of the earth and the forest overwhelmed her senses, and she felt more powerful with every fall, as if the mud had some sort of magic in it. She finally arrived on top of the hill, and the sight that was offered to her was worth every scratch: the trees had left the place to a vast meadow filled with high grass and thousands of flowers of various colours. Green gave way to violet and yellow, pink was challenging orange and white, and everywhere the eye fell, butterflies and bees shared the aerial space. Her ears caught the loud singing of birds nesting in small fragrant bushes, and crickets were lazily humming their summery chirp. The sky was of the purest blue, and small dreamy clouds travelled through it with nonchalance. A big flat rock lay in the middle of this sea of nature, and she sat on it, taking in the surroundings. The view was amazing: the meadow grew larger and wider on the other side, sloping down into a valley where a little lake glimmered under the big radiant sun. On her right, the hill went further up and atop it stood a circular building made of stones. She took a moment to breathe, for the air up here was clean as crystal, and her lungs seemed to suddenly crave for it. She enjoyed the feeling of warmth on her skin as she laid herself on the temperate stone and gave herself to the sun’s soothing rays. The morose wind and gloomy rain that had consumed her mood earlier were completely forgotten, her miserable village a remote memory. This was heaven.

She stayed there for a while before her curiosity won over, and she made her way up the hill to the strange building towering in the distance. It happened to be an old observatory, falling to pieces here and there, covered in moss and ivy, but the door was solid oak, carved with drawings of moon, sun and stars, and it was heavy to manipulate. Inside, Nature had reclaimed her territory: small bushes had grown from the seedy dust swept inside through the broken windows and grass and small flowers had found their way through the flagstones. She climbed the stony spiral staircase running alongside the wall all the way up the tower, and finally found herself in the actual observatory room. It was completely empty, except for the gigantic brass refracting telescope and the seat attached to it. Carefully, she climbed into the seat and peered through the eyehole. She couldn’t see much, since the sun was still quite high in the sky. As she made to get down from the chair, the instrument started to tremble and creak. Its mechanisms had been set into motion, and there was nothing she could do but hold tight to the arms of her seat. It went up as the tip of the telescope went down, then moved to the left as the telescope went to the right, and finally settled, a few feet above the ground. When she chanced a glance through the lens, she saw menacing grey fog; but as the fog seemed to clear, there appeared a billion of lights, set in square patterns like a sky full of carefully arranged and brilliantly lit stars. Except she wasn’t looking at the sky; she was watching way down over the mountains into the city itself. As the telescoped focused of its own accord, she could see carts moving without horses to pull them, some small and other as big as three carts put together, and two storeys high too. Everywhere, people were walking, covered from head to toe with grimly coloured heavy clothes. It must be raining down there, she thought, because everyone looks grumpy and runs along, probably for shelter, and they all look down with their head buried in their shoulders. Everywhere the telescope made her look, she could see only buildings, grey and ugly, square and way too tall. There was no tree to be found, not a garden in view, nothing that was even remotely reminiscent of the beauty that surrounded her. Everything was gloomy, dark and morose. Except for the lights. Those lights made her uneasy: they shone like little suns, yet they didn’t seem natural. Their brightness was too vivid, too yellow, but it seemed empty, almost dead. She couldn’t understand how that was even conceivable.

“They have harnessed energy down there; they use it for light and other things.” The voice came from nowhere and gave her a start that made her scream and jump on her seat. She looked around but couldn’t make out where the voice had come from. She called out for it but there was no reply. Suddenly the chair quaked and started to go down slowly, now detached from the telescope. When she was close enough to the ground, she jumped out of it and started to look for anything that could explain this voice and all the commotion. Eventually, as she was going to leave the place, scared and uneasy, the voice talked again: “Do not be afraid please. You have found us. We thought it only natural to show you what they are doing down there, so that maybe you could help us.” As she was straining to perceive what or who had spoken, a form started to appear at the foot of the telescope. It was as tall as three apples and in the shape of a wax doll; its face was round at the top and pointy at the chin, with big shiny black round eyes and a round mouth that gave it a perpetually surprised expression. As she was wondering what it was, it said: “We are Nature, a collective individual. We are everything and everything is us. But we are dying now. They are killing us down there. They don’t realize they are killing themselves.” It wasn’t really speaking, no sound came out of its mouth and yet, she could hear it perfectly, as though the voice was coming from inside of her, even though it was all around at the same time. It went on without a pause: “They have screens with which they communicate, and they think they know the world. But they watch it through those screens and they don’t talk to each other. They have no idea. They’ve lost their faith in places like here, they don’t believe in anything anymore. But the worst is they think they know everything. It only leads them to destroy everything, and soon, even we will be at their mercy here, when they get bored down there and decide it’s time to conquer what has been forgotten.” At this point, it tilted its head awkwardly, and suddenly it was spinning around at such speed it became a blur, accompanied by a deafening whirr. And then it stopped. Its puzzled expression made her want to take it in her arms, cuddle it and tell it everything would be ok, but she was too much in awe to do anything. It made a sound like “glop”, and went on talking: “They don’t believe in Nature anymore; they forgot they were part of us when they decided to take control. Even the mountain men you live amongst are not aware of what surrounds them anymore. They live trapped in those mountains, instead of living in harmony with what they have to offer. The magic has been lost. It takes an open mind and a free spirit to find it again, and most human beings have forgotten even those abilities. You haven’t. You believe. You must save us.” As she was going to ask what she was supposed to do, it disappeared without a trace, leaving her alone in the observatory with the sun now setting down slowly. After a moment, she recovered from the shock of everything that had just happened, and proceeded down the now airless tower and back into the fresh air.

As she looked around her at the scenery disappearing under the shades of the setting sun, she suddenly felt the urge to return to her village and warn her family of the impending doom she now felt in her heart and bones. She realized she didn’t have much time until night fell completely and she wouldn’t be able to find her way back. She started running towards the direction she had come from, past the slim trees onto the bushy slopes that cascaded into the forest of red-leaved white oaks. She galloped through the undergrowth, jumping over roots and fallen trunks. Everything had gone still with the approach of darkness, and she seemed like the only living thing in the forest. She was running so fast she couldn’t even see where she was going really, and she didn’t want to stop, for fear of never being able to make it back to the people she now had to warn. The forest wasn’t helping: the bliss of day had left its place to the terrors of twilight, when the left-over light played with one’s mind and senses and filled them with mixed signals and fallacious imageries; here the trees had taken human forms and glowered at her from high up. Their branches were now claws trying to grip her clothes and preventing her from passing. Rustle of leaves passed for monster’s growl and the thunder of the river sounded like the cry of a wounded giant. She was getting close to madness, getting out of breath, and she started to panic; she didn’t see the rock that made her stumble and fall down the rest of the hill, knocking her head on roots and bruising her body all over. When the tumbling stopped, she gasped and lost consciousness. Before her eyes shut completely, she managed to make out a dark furry shape hovering over her face, a large muzzle and big yellow eyes shining in the gloom. She had seen eyes like those before, she managed to think. They were supposed to be mean, dangerous and ferocious, she had been told, but those eyes were pure and compassionate, she thought. And as she felt her broken body being lifted up, she drowned into nothingness.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

They told her they’d found her in a ditch further down the road. They’d been worried she was dead but the medicine man had said they’d brought her back just in time. She had several broken ribs, a sore ankle and countless bruises; her clothes were all torn and savaged. She had tried to explain what had happened to her, the place she had found, the things she’d seen; she told them about the observatory, but they’d just shaken their head with worry in their eyes: nobody knew what she was talking about. Even the elders had no memory of such a building, neither did they know anything about telepathic creatures who called themselves Nature. They’d told her she had suffered a concussion and she’d probably dreamt it all while she was lying on the side of the road. She had started doubting, especially when she’d gone back a few weeks later, only to find a perfectly ordinary forest in the place of the magical one she’d run in so freely. As the days went by, the memory of her adventure started to fade. But deep inside of her, there was a voice telling her to prepare, to pass on her knowledge to save what could still be saved and bring men and Nature back together in harmony. And when she heard the call of a wolf one night – when such creatures had disappeared decades ago from her birthplace – she knew she was right to believe and she did what she was meant to do: she started fighting, gently but firmly, for Nature’s rights.