The elf husks glow green, like the rat’s eyes except it’s their whole bodies. The nearest one turns toward me. I draw my blade.

“Come on!” I shout, displaying a bravery I do not feel.

Its movements are stiff and mechanical, like a robot, like it’s being controlled.

Not a willing servant then. This is what happens to those that don’t submit I bet. Somehow they get turned into these things.

I bring my blade down hard on its head. The husk blocks but is slow and my blade still pushes through the deflection. I hear a satisfying crack of bones and blood spurts onto my weapon and the dirt below. But while a normal person (or elf) would stagger or fall back with pain the husk doesn’t even grimace. It slashes back at me and I barely dodge out of its way. I spin and slice my sword across its abdomen, splitting its guts upon the ground, and something else along with them. A green sludge oozes out along with the other normal fluids. It’s like a plant matter that shimmers in the dark. It’s brilliant and alluring and I have to pull my eyes aways from it as two more husks approach.

They swing simultaneously and I jump back from the blades. Stepping to my left I bury my sword deep within the husk’s side. It topples over and I yank the weapon free, just as the other blade is thrust toward me. Knocking it to the side I spin and cut off the husk’s head. More green gunk gurgles onto the ground.

What is that crap? Maybe it’s what causes the glow.

Three more husks come lumbering toward me. They look so alive and yet so dead. I pounce on the first one and use my sword’s length to my advantage as I repeatedly strike from a safe distance. The husk parries two thrusts but I connect on the third, digging into his breast. I grin in triumph. Then the husk grabs the blade and shoves it even deeper, pulling me toward it.

I duck as the husk swings for my head and I feel the blade shimmy across my hair. I pull my weapon down through its torso causing green sludge to gurgle out onto my blade and body.

Disgusting.

Spinning I catch another husk on its legs, cutting them out from under the charging enemy. The last one swipes down at me and I jump away. But then I stumble and nearly fall to the ground. Looking-up I see more trunks exploding, more husks emerging.

They just. keep. coming.

The husk swings again and I deflect the blade just in time. Then I spin and slice off its hand, causing its sword to fall to the ground. But I don’t strike again. I run. I don’t know exactly how to get back to camp but I remember the general direction and that’s good enough for now. My legs churn through the foliage; I stumble and fall, even run into a branch in the dark, but I don’t care. I just need to stay ahead of the green haze behind me. The husks are following; they’re even clumsier than I am but they’re also persistent.

I see a green glow ahead of me. A husk is emerging from a tree and I plow right into it. We both go sprawling as I kick and punch trying to get if off me. With a final smash of my sword hilt I send it sprawling and I stumble to my feet just as another is starting to emerge from a fat trunk.

These things are everywhere.

That’s what it feels like anyway.

I see one ahead of me and leap. Up in the air and down I go, sword in hand and with a mighty yell I plunge it into the husk’s chest.

Take that you bastard.

Not even waiting to see if it’s dead I start to run again. Sparing a glance back I gape as I see another husk shoves its wounded companion back into the tree, like a car might be brought to the mechanic.

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That must be how it started. Bodies shoved into tree trunks. What sort of twisted magic is this? And how to stop it?

“You can’t,” says the voice. “They’ll just keep rebuilding themselves. No matter how many you kill. No matter how many the elven army kills. You are doomed, and you are mine.”

My legs are tiring but I push forward. I’ve got to be close to the campsite by now.

Unless I’ve already passed it. Or unless it’s already been attacked. Or unless I’m lost completely.

In the distance I see a wave or husks. Must be twenty plowing toward me. My heart thumps with anxiety.

Can I take that many?

I bit my lip in indecisions, turning forward and back, forward and back.

“Time to surrender. Lay down your weapon.” The voice comes again. “Sleep with me my boy.”

Shut-up dryad.

“Up here,” someone says, and I ignore it, assuming it’s the god again. “Up here if you want to live.” This voice is different though. Beside me is a giant tree, the biggest one I’ve seen, and among its thick branches I see a bird. It looks like an enormous vulture thing. And it’s hideous.

I think back to the last time I trusted an animal and remember that it went rather poorly. But if this one wanted me dead it could always just let the husks handle it. They seem to have a more than fair chance at the moment.

“Hurry. You're almost out of time.”

I take a final look at the green storm and jump onto the first branch. It’s gross, gnarly, sap-laden, and thick. So is the next one, and the one after that. The leaf tips are sharp as well and they poke me as a rise. It’s a strange thing to complain about with my life on the line but the leaves are really annoying, especially if they poke you in the eye. Then it really sucks.

“You’re almost here,” says the vulture. "You'll be safe for a while. The husks aren't exactly agile."

I pull myself over two more branches and between two particularly sappy ones that make my hands feel like they’re covered in Elmers glue. Then I sit with the vulture, high in the trees, and pant.

The bird is ugly, so it suits the tree nicely. Its head is bald, its feathers tattered; its body is wide though. She spreads her wings and I swear they’re over twenty feet across.

I look down and see the husks at the base of the tree. They’re mulling about but not climbing-up. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I should have thought of this myself.”

“We’re not safe yet,” the vulture turns its head and I see for the first time that one of her eyes is missing. Instead there’s just a gash that runs along her face. “I should know.”

The sight unnerves me and I squirm, unsure of what to say.

The vulture continues. “You are not the first to challenge the dryad. Many animals have tried. The elves try still. They all fail.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“So why will you succeed?”

I lick my lips. It’s a good question. “I stopped the sorceress,” I offer. “At least for the moment. And some people say I did so because I am….chosen.”

“That you are the prophesied hero of Astria,” the vulture says.

“You know about that?”

“I know about the prophecy. I do not know if the prophecy refers to you. ”

The vulture turns away and I follow the bird’s gaze. More husks are gathering at the tree. That can’t be good.

I grit my teeth. “I am not the hero yet, but I want to be. I want to become what I’m called to be.”

The vulture turns back to me and pauses. “So do I.”

The husks start pointing up and one lets fly his wooden stick. A stick that I can now identify as a spear. It zooms through the air and doesn’t quite reach us as we are mingled deep in the branches. Still, I have a feeling it could reach us.

“We have to go,” says the vulture.

The vulture extends her wings, and they cast an impressive array despite their tawdry feathers.

“Wait,” I say. “You’re leaving me? After calling me up here.”

Another spear flies and strikes the trunk.

“Of course not,” the bird nods at its back, “hop on”.

I pause. “You can carry me?”

The vulture shimmies. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

Another spear flies and cuts the air between us. Some of the husks start striking the tree itself. Each sword goes whack, whack, whack, and I wonder how much that trunk can take.

“No time like the present,” says the vulture. Now sounding somewhat urgent.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I slide onto his broad back.

“To your friends.”

“And where are they?”

“In trouble.”