Walking through our forest I found this tree and it reminded me of the weirwood trees in the books „A Song of Ice and Fire“ by George RR Martin.
„They do,“ Bran said with sudden certainty. „They dream tree dreams. I dream of a tree sometimes. A weirwood, like the one in the godswood. It calls to me. The wolf dreams are better. I smell things, and sometimes I can taste the blood.“
She should never have talked about the wolf dreams, Bran thought as Hodor carried him up the steps to his bedchamber. He fought against sleep as long as he could, but in the end it took him as it always did. On this night he dreamed of the weirwood. It was looking at him with its deep red eyes, calling to him with its twisted wooden mouth, and from its pale branches the three-eyed crow came flapping, pecking at his face and crying his name in a voice as sharp as swords.
„The night of the harvest feast, you dreamed you were Summer in the godswood, didn’t you?“
„Stop it!“ Bran shouted. Summer slid toward the weirwood, his white teeth bared.
Jojen Reed took no mind. „When I touched Summer, I felt you in him. Just as you are in him now.“
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