“If you made this place,” Hennessy said, “why didn’t you make it safer for you?” He reached up to run his fingers along a low-hanging branch. “I had another forest before Lindenmere.” He looked like he was going to confess something, but in the end, he just said, “Bad things happened to it. I made it too safe, because I was a chickenshit. Made it more ordinary. So it had to rely on me to keep it safe and—” He did not finish this, but he did not have to.
