He had followed the butterfly into a glade deeper in the forest; he knew that place well - it was there where the birches grew most beautiful, and where wild orchids would grace the earth in March. Now his steps were light and silent as he approached this green sanctuary; he found his place underneath the leaves of a weeping willow. He watched the patterns of swaying light within his eyelids as he rested himself against the trunk, lulled by the rustling of the leaves above.