That same weary exhaustion hits him again and he sighs, "I'm not. I'm the avatar of the green. I speak for the parliament of trees."

He pauses, "In my world, every element is governed by a parliament. Old souls chosen to protect them and work in concert with...the world. To oversee humans. To protect their elements."

A creeper pulls itself out of the grass and wraps itself around his wrist.

"I was born a human. I lived as a man, and then I died and gave myself to this. It sometimes helps...to think of it like that. That I'm dead."

The creeper might look almost...gentle.