[The forest parts before Greed in a way that's almost welcoming - the same way a bog welcomes you to sink in, dark water closing over your head. But there's no deep undergrowth in his path, no tripping roots or brambles; it's almost as if it wants him headed toward the center.]

[As long as Greed keeps stepping forward, even if he looks away for a moment, things don't seem to rearrange. The plant growth around stays stable, waving ashenly in the light breeze. But if he looks back - there it's still disorienting, changing every time. The Silent Forest isn't free of its old tricks.]

[It's almost like a promise: keep going in, and you'll stay on course. Try heading out... you'll lose yourself forever.]

[Though maybe there's a different sort of losing yourself further in...]

[Whatever the answer - it won't be more than ten minutes before Greed may feel the sensation of being followed creep up on him. But whether or not he looks, there's nothing behind him - until, suddenly, there is. A shade's materialized behind his right shoulder as if he never left.]

Boss, [Stocke says, soft.] Thanks for coming in after me.

[He sounds right. He looks almost right. But there's something deeply, deeply wrong in the air, a sense of penetrating rot. Stocke's tendrils drift stiff behind him, held more like branches than limbs, and in his eyes the static makes brambled shapes.]

[Whatever's going on there - he (or the forest?) seem content not to make a move for now. At least, Stocke stays at his usual comfortable distance right behind the Sin's shoulder for as long as Greed keeps walking, and what he says next is -] You're not Heiss. If you had been - [A pause, a short shake of his head.]

...I didn't do it for you. [Well. That's not quite accurate, but -] At least, not the way you mean.