The tree grew in the middle of the downs. Not the exact middle, nothing so obviously significant; the fact that it grew at all was enough. After all, nothing else in the downs did.
Things lived in the downs, true enough. But they didn't grow. They ate, slept, killed, died, went through all the motions of life... but nothing aged, nothing got bigger. Whatever they were when it happened, so they'd been ever since. Except for the tree.
The tree flourished. It towered over all else for miles around. It had no competition. Only the desperate even went near it, and they rarely came back.
True, the tree would get hit by every lightning bolt to come down during thunderstorms, but that seemed to mean nothing to it. It shook. It steamed in the rain. It grew.
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