When they first came, they took the forest’s bark, and the old trees that had fallen. But the stubborn forest persisted.

In time, they took the trees themselves, one at a time, toppling them and hauling them off. But the stubborn forest persisted.

Then came great metal claws, and teeth that tore and shredded harder and faster than any before while belching poison. But the stubborn forest persisted.

Soon there were few trees left, and they were cordoned off to one side, too small to be useful, while new forests grew nearby–forests of squares, of oily surfaces, of dancing and captive flames. But the stubborn forest persisted.

Then the new forests grew silent. The dancing and captive flames went out. The new square forests, flimsy, collapsed upon themselves. Empty, dead, and abandoned for those few places that remained as refuge. But the stubborn forest persisted.

It is quiet now, and the boundaries of the forest are expanding. The world is different now, and some of the trees can no longer survive. But the stubborn forest persisted.

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