Deciding to take a rest, you sit on the ground, back against the trunk of the mighty tree. Barely have you stretched out and relaxed, when a spell of somnolence steals over you, luring you to an early evening nap.

Your dreams are fragmented and disjointed, but there's an overall sense of growth, of untamed power, and gentled benevolence. After what seems like ages, you're finally able to crack your eyes open again, looking out at a starlit sky through the branches of ... an oak sapling, some distance removed from the mighty parent oak. You find yourself somewhat changed as well, with darkly tanned skin, and golden hair streaked with red, matching the autumnal leaves in your sapling.

Wait ... your sapling? Turning, and looking at it carefully, it strikes a sudden sense of belonging and rightness in your tender young heart. Somehow, the spirit of the oak, finding you resting in her shade, has chosen you to continue on her dryadic line.

Over the next few days, you find yourself unable to stray more than a few feet from your new sapling 'home.' Despite all appearances, you haven't a corporeal form, being naught but a nature spirit, and thus are bound to the young oak - which has a lifespan of several hundred years - and the reach of its shadow.