Eventually she arrives at the edge of a field, a strange field, planted with a form of vegetation not native to the area. 

The forest would have accepted this new life, allowed it to blend into the forest dream as Dema has, to spread if it could, or be encroached upon and overgrown by the surrounding forest forms. But men come here and tend this plot, and the forest has no way to understand the nature of this intrusion. 

Somehow the forest feels that Dema can help, so it has guided her here. Dema does not know this, because the forest cannot tell her. She only knows that the forest wants her to wait here, so she does. In the stillness of her waiting she becomes a tree, a small tree, and feels the breezes stirring her leaves. Her roots drink water out of the soil and send it upward and outward through her branches. 

The sun warms her leaves with its energy. They breathe carbon dioxide out of the air to feed her new growth, and exhale out through their pores the life-giving oxygen needed by other forest creatures. She waits, and eventually men come, and harvest the crop, and plant anew, trimming back the encroaching forest growth. 

Dema becomes aware of these men, and of their purpose, and the Lamia stirs within her. She remembers the Lamia's oath, and knows that what these men do brings harm to the innocents she is sworn to protect. She curses them silently, and vows to herself to bring the vengeance of the Lamia upon them. 

But she does not move. She has stood this way too long, and her shaman dream is too intertwined with the forest dream. The dream shift to Lamia form is not there for her. So she waits, and the men leave, and she is again alone with the forest.