He would never admit it, not to anyone and sometimes not even to himself. Why would anyone believe him after all?
Spike was not one to admit anything, or even let a soft side show without force, not even to Little Miss Goldilocks. But he was a Nemophilist, he was one before he became a vampire and even more so afterwards.
He loved the forest, everything about it and more so at night when the fog rolled in. he used it to his advantage when he first joined the monsters in the dark when he travelled place to place. It disguised him well, hid his from the sun when it rose.
He missed it, he missed the lush forests with the fog rolling through it like death’s soft embrace. Now the towns grew bigger, culling his trees, culling his home away from home.