“It watched as if the forest itself had grown an eye.”

“It watched as if the forest itself had grown an eye.”

Perched upon a velvet branch of moss, the creature shimmered—no larger than a thumb, no heavier than a whisper. Its body seemed spun from dew and shadow, fragile as breath. But its eyes—two radiant orbs of mint fire—pierced the dusk with impossible clarity.

The woodland air bent around it, hushed, reverent. Every fern leaned closer, every droplet trembled as if caught in its gaze. It was not predator, not prey, but a witness—an oracle woven into bark and leaf. To meet its stare was to feel the weight of forgotten roots, the memory of stones, the patience of stars.

It was delicate, yes. But not fragile. It was the forest’s vision made flesh.

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The Mossseer 👁️

📍Black Forest, Germany