"You already understand. You just don't trust that what you hear and feel is it communicating. They don't think, not like animals do, but they're talking all the time." He takes Ben's hand and lays it on the trunk, to feel the bark, to listen to the soft shift of leaves and wood. "Sunlight and a soft breeze, damp roots. Creaking ache around the taps, but fleeting, passing again and forgotten soon. Just because there's no words and no emotions doesn't mean they're not talking."

Cole lets his hand come to rest in his lap. "They don't hear, but they feel the ripple of voices against them, the sharpness of shouting, the gentle stroke of a whisper."

He watches Ben lay down and just leans his own head against the tree.