His soul whistled through the sleeping trees, their branches heavy. Ice and snow and things best unseen weighed heavy on these silent sentinels.

His soul screamed, and cried, and bled.
And the white oak creaked, heavy
The wind and the cold piling snow
Where down below, in the crooked roots
Snow landed, covering sins. Soft snow landing on his pale face. Mouth locked in silent screams. Eyes, sightless, frozen and cloudy. Disappearing until spring thaw.

The figure, wrapped and bundled, watches the feather lite touch of the world. Watches it cover the boy. Listens to the screams, the cries. Listens as the soul joins the forest. Hundreds of trees, with companions all, until the coming spring.