Bernard had a headache. He spent the entire trip to the village in a futile attempt to prove he wasn't a spirit or messenger from the gods. None of the natives believed him, of course, because they had seen his armor magically sprout thorns and move on its own when he opened his helmet. They simply knew he was a forest spirit sent to protect them, regardless of what he said about it. Who else but a forest spirit would appear to smite the great evil monster wreaking havoc in magical wooden armor and using a strange plant as a weapon?

It was nearly as frustrating to find out what their classes were. Each of them, when asked, would cheerfully tell him that when the gods asked them to define their role they chose some variation of hunter or gatherer. They simply didn't have the cultural background necessary to realize that they could have chosen to do whatever they wished and not what they just did already.

Even so, they were all pleased at the 'gifts' the gods gave to their people. Gatherers found that they somehow knew where the best places to find what they were searching for would be, while hunters found that their aim and ability to predict how their prey might react had improved. They also got better at stalking through the forest quietly, which was how the one guy had snuck up on them.

"I wanted to ask earlier, but you ran off to find something to chew on you." Henry said softly. "How come you didn't know that guy was there? Shouldn't the forest have told you about him like it did everything else that came at us?"

Bernard watched the men around him move through the forest with the ease of lifelong practice and shook his head. "Look at them move, they're like ghosts. The trees around me send me all kinds of messages, everything from the sun is good to parasites are bad. I'm still new at listening for the things that are relevant to me, but the most obvious messages I watch for are the ones about damage. Those cats, for example, used their claws to climb along some branches before dropping down to get us.

"Since I suddenly heard about unexpected damage I knew something had to be in that direction, but not what it was. Since there have been an unpleasantly large number of things trying to eat me lately I was being cautious. It could just as easily have been a beaver or whatever the Amazon's equivalent of something that chews on trees would be. These guys don't damage any of the plants as they move, so the plants don't send anything about them. Things are made even more difficult by the fact that I can't listen as well when I'm moving, the connection gets weaker."

"Ah. Are you feeling better?" Henry asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I feel a lot better, thanks." He wasn't, not really, but telling Henry that wasn't the best thing to do right now. It hadn't even been a week since the boy lost his mother to venom. Regardless of how well he seemed to be handling it on the outside, his reaction to Bernard getting bit by something venomous spoke volumes about the emotional trauma inflicted on him. Besides, Bernard could feel the effects lessening as his Poison Resistance dealt with it… somehow. Maybe it just works to remove toxins from my system? Helps me fight them off or process them better? But then it should be called Toxin Resistance, shouldn't it?

Clarification issue recognized! Poison Resistance has been provisionally renamed Toxin Resistance. Thank you for assisting Aegis in its efforts to ensure the survival of Sapient Beings everywhere!

"What the?!" Bernard jumped a bit at the unexpected alert from Aegis. "How are these not all taken care of by now?!" It had been days. With billions of people interacting with Aegis constantly it should have learned and adapted to this sort of thing by now. At least Bernard thought so. If it was as omnipresent as it seemed to be.

Refinement of the Aegis system is an ongoing process. Any and all adaptations are only made after considerable feedback. Your report was one of two-point-four million such reports, and each sapient that made a report has received the same update. Aegis appreciates your continued existence and use of the system.

"A lot to unpack there." Bernard muttered to himself. "I didn't realize it answered questions." He glanced around at the others, refocusing on the task at hand instead of dwelling on whether the weird voice in his head was self-aware. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind instead, mulling over questions he could ask when he got the time.

"Are you done communing with the gods, Curupira?" One of the men asked him cautiously.

"Oh for the- look, I. Am. Not. A. Spirit. I'm not a messenger, I'm not a god. I'm just a guy that is lost in the woods." Bernard snapped. He was frustrated beyond belief at the indians, even though it wasn't their fault. He took a deep breath and tried to change the subject slightly. "What did the others in your village choose as their role? The women?" Hunter-gatherer societies tended to be split along gender lines if his memory served, and it was possible, albeit unlikely, that some of the women might have chosen something different.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Cooks and farmers, Curupira."

"Did anyone, anyone, take anything other than your traditional roles?" No answer came and Bernard was certain that they didn't. "What about your elders? What did they take? Shaman?"

"We do have a Shaman, Curupira."

"My name is Bernard. Is the shaman the person you are taking us to?"

"Yes, he is-"

A scream cut through the air, ending their conversation abruptly. The men all froze for a moment, then ran in the direction of the sound. Bernard and Henry ran after them. There was no doubt some new abomination attacking their village that they needed to kill. Bernard frowned as they ran, though. He didn't feel anything. More accurately, he felt something like an empty spot in the forest ahead of him, but no reaction from the forest alerting him to a voidling. A natural monster then? Like the cats?

Before long they erupted from the treeline, weapons at the ready. Bernard staggered as a blast of vertigo hit him. His vision swam a bit as he took in the devastation surrounding him. A big green humanoid brute with spines protruding in a line down its back was wading through the splintered remains of wooden huts. Blood smears and shattered remains made the fate of anyone the voidling caught plain to see.

"Where the fuck did that come from?!" Bernard practically shouted. He saw a woman carrying a child about to be caught and stopped thinking. He exploded forward with an unintelligible shout, moving faster than he ever thought he could. It wasn't fast enough. He wound back and threw the thistle at the brute's head with every bit of strength he could muster as arrows pelted it. To his utter surprise, it didn't stay in the shape of a thistle-mace.

It unwound itself somehow, turning into a tangle of thorny vines that wrapped around the brute's torso, delivering copious amounts of potent toxins with every scratch and puncture. Not that it seemed to matter much. If anything it only made the ten-foot-tall monster angrier. It didn't even do them the courtesy of stumbling slightly from the incredible amount of poisons and venoms it was pelted with. Poisoned arrows and darts continued to rain down on the monster as it turned to face its attackers.

It roared and a blast of hot fetid air washed across Bernard, making him wince at the foul odor. It was clearly furious at them for having the temerity to attack it, and Bernard quickly discovered that he was the closest target yet again. This time without a weapon. It launched a deceptively fast punch at him, and he mostly dodged it. By tripping.

The easy grace he had so rapidly grown accustomed to in the forest was gone, and his attempt at ducking and leaning to the side sent him tumbling to the ground. The brute was displeased at having missed, and made Bernard aware of its displeasure with a kick to the ribs as he attempted to scramble back to his feet. Thorns tore chunks of flesh from its toes as the air was brutally driven from his lungs and he was tossed across the clearing like a ragdoll.

Bernard wasn't particularly aware of most of that however. He was more focused on the wet crunch he felt more than heard when he was kicked. Definitely have some broken bones. He was fortunately saved from a follow-up attack by Henry throwing himself at the monster, hammering the side of its knee with a flurry of blows that left deep purple bruises in their wake. The kid was forced to abort his attack pretty quick though as the brute tried to swat him away.

Henry dove and twisted away, significantly better than Bernard had managed, but wasn't quite fast enough. He was clipped ever-so-slightly and tossed nearly twice as far away as Bernard had been kicked. Bernard could taste iron as he coughed wetly as he struggled to get to his feet. He was only halfway there when the monster stepped in his direction, clearly intending to finish him off, and had its leg fail it. More specifically, the blackened flesh around its knee where Henry had pummeled it caved under its mass and sent it tumbling to the ground.

Arrow after arrow thunked into it as it flailed and raged on the ground until it finally slowed and eventually went still. Bernard happily let himself fall back to the ground with a grunt. He glanced down at his chest as best he could and was unsurprised to find his breastplate a shattered, splintery mess. He was a bit surprised he didn't see oodles and oodles of blood, but not only did his armor have a tendency to eat blood, it tasted like most of the bleeding was internal.

"Curupira!"

"Curupira!"

"Bernard!"

A cacophony of noise jolted him from an unnoticed lapse in consciousness. Where is my forest? He wondered numbly. Why can't I hear my forest? All he could hear was his armor, and it needed sustenance. "Thistle." He croaked.

One of the men went to get it for him. "No! Don't, touch. Bring me to, it." He wheezed the words out. Something was wrong with his lungs, or at least one of them. He grimaced as the hunters promptly obeyed, gripping his arms and dragging him over to the huge green corpse. Tingles washed across him every few seconds, and he hoped it was Henry healing him and not some new problem.

A wave of relief went through him when the connection to his thistle came back, and he was just about to ask them to drag him to the edge of the forest so it could help him when his armor decided it wanted to stay right where it was and sank roots deep into both the body and the ground next to it. It didn't open, and his thistle stayed wrapped around the monster's body. He was on the verge of trying to struggle when the voice of his forest returned. It was faint, distant, but familiar and comforting. Its presence settled over his mind like a warm blanket on a cold night and without realizing it, he fell into a deep slumber.