Grand corps allongé sans vie, rempli on ne sait pourquoi d'incisions alignées: l'oeuvre d'une machine serial-killeuse, probablement. Dans la lutte du peuple du bois et du peuple du métal, l'armée de fer est de plus en plus sophistiquée, et bruyante, et rapide. Mais il paraît que, parfois, les forêts se mettent en marche. Gare au peuple du métal, alors!
Shakespeare, Macbeth, Acte V, scene 5
"Messenger
Gracious my lord, I should report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it.
MACBETH
Well, say, sir.
Messenger
As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.
MACBETH
Liar and slave!
Messenger
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove.
MACBETH
If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in resolution, and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out! If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. I gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. "
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