“Wake-up,” I yell to my companions. “Wake-up!”

The first boar is ugly, even worse than Earthen ones. Its skin is slick, almost slimy, and its back has a spiked mohawk running down the length of it. I remember seeing these things in-game in the human realm of Astria; this forest version looks even meaner, and definitely more determined.

I slash the first boar across its nostrils and blood spurts into the air. The animal doesn’t stop and threatens to clench my arm in its jaw. I embrace the threat and thrust my sword down the beast’s throat. It gags on its own blood and I toss the beast to the side with a great heave. Alas, the pig’s teeth leave gashes in my skin that, while narrow, hurt like the dickens and seem to inspire the other animals with even more ferocity.

I swing again and another boar falls at my feet. I swerve to my left and strike at a third then leap out of the way fourth. Another chomps at my leg and I kick it away. Three more come at me, but a flying shield saves me from their clenches. The spiked circle nails all three as it careens among them, bloodied and hairy. I turn to see a ragged elf charging into the fray, retrieving his stained shield and using his broadsword to finish the work his shield started.

Then a staff starts to whirl beside me as it bats away one pig, then another. It glows a light purple and I wonder what the cleric has doused it with this time. Then I see the beaten pigs glow themselves and they start to vomit and fall to the ground shaking.

Poison.

The cleric whirls with his staff and splashes a bottle against the elf’s shield such that the metal circle becomes the elf’s primary weapon, not only deflecting but poisoning each boar it touches. The pigs stagger and writhe all around me making easy targets for my sword.

“Sorry I’m late, sire,” Dauntless cries, bleary eyed as he joins the fray. His leg is wrapped with a cloth bandage and he hobbles slightly, but he bites a boar across its back and tosses it to the woods.

“I thought I told you to rest,” I shout.

“You did, sire, but I’m afraid I’ve never been good at following instructions.”

I grin as I chop a boar in half and another pig falls under Dautless’s hooves. The boars are fierce but they’re fewer than the husks and no match for the four of us. I chop, parry, and spin, then lift one high in the air on the flat side of my blade, sending it spiraling through the air. The remaining pigs start to retreat.

“Why?” I call after them. “Why attack us?”

“The god demands it,” a boar responds.

“She’s no god,” I retort. “Just a monster. A monster to be slain.”

The boar sneers at me. “She does not die. You have not seen the god. You do not understand.”

The boars withdraw and I am left to ponder their words, as I’m the only one who heard them.

“Did the boar have anything interesting to say?” asks the elf. “Any cute stories to tell about its fallen comrades?”

Myran’s tone is jocular, but his eyes are intense and are waiting for an answer. It must be strange for him, watching me interact with the world he knows so much better than me and yet not nearly so well because he lacks my gift. Part of me wants to tease him or laugh at his curiosity, but I remember what it likes to feel like to feel left out. To always be the outsider.

“He says you can’t kill a god,” I tell him. “That we don’t understand what we’re facing.”

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The elf continues to look at me for a minute, evaluating. Then his face turns pale, a shade I’ve never seen before and quickly looks away.

Is he afraid?

Despite our weariness we march forward, or stumble as the case may be. As the adrenaline from battle fades, tired is all I feel now; it’s like I can taste the lactic acid in my muscles. My lids try to close without permission and several times I smack my own face just to keep myself from tipping over.

The sun comes out, not that it matters much I guess. The voice is pounding in my skull and is even causing me physical pain, like a headache slowly building. Still I’ll take this pain over the demon.

She helped me with the pigs. Why? What is she up to?

No sign of her. Or angel for that matter, who is the one I’d really like to see. I slurp water carefully from our limited supply. Behind me my companions look exhausted as well. Myran is the worst. He’s mumbling about something ot another like he’s talking in his sleep. I drift back to him.

“Myran,” I say, but he ignores me, still muttering. “Myran Telos!”

The elf jumps at his own name, suddenly alert and tense. “What? What is it?”

I hold-up my hands. “I just came back to offer you a drink.”

The elf pushes his hair back, composing himself. “A drink? Why would I want that now? Are we going to sing and dance as well?”

I sigh. “It’s not alcohol. It’s just water. I thought it would help you. Maybe keep you alert.”

The elf’s eyes narrow. “Keep me alert? You think I need that, Ethan? Let me tell you a little something about alertness. Years before you got here, before your righteous king arrived, before he unleashed the sorceress on our world, before any of that I was in the plains. I stayed there for months at a time, sometimes alone, sometimes in a small group. You think I slept easy those nights, you think I wasn’t alert? With all those sharks in the grass? That I didn’t go days without a sound sleep at times? You think -?

“It was just an offer,” I interrupt, and walk away.

I’m done with that guy. If I’m still alive after this I am done with that elf. Luna can have him for all I care. So long as I don’t have to deal with his crap.

I slide back further to check on Dauntless, who definitely looks tired, and I slide him a little of the water rejected by the wondrous Myran.

“Thank you, sire,” says the horse, “though I hope you didn’t give me more than my fair share.”

I smack the horse on the rump. “Believe me, Dauntless, it was far less than you deserve.”

Maybe there’s a way to trade the elf for another talking horse.

The afternoon is when I first notice it, but it may have been there for a while: a green haze all around me. It’s a dim green that covers every aspect of the forest, like a child’s outline in a very light pencil. It’s strange and fairytale like.

“It’s beautiful,” says the elf, and I have to agree.

“This must be connected to the dryad,” the cleric adds.

The ground slopes away from us now and I realize we are on a hill. The incline was so shallow I didn’t notice going up but I can tell now because it’s a lot steeper on the way down. And at the bottom of the path I see the clearing. At the heart of the forest is a clearing and in the middle of that is a tree. It’s a giant tree, taller than the others, and it glows the strongest green. There are tentacles extending out from it like arteries coming from a heart.

The dryad’s tree.

I take my time, and scour the area with my eyeballs. I don’t see anything with my them though. Just the tree. Part of me wants to charge forward, but I know better than that now.

We continue our descent carefully but still there is nothing. We get to the edge of the glade and I breathe a sigh of relief. Still no sign of the enemy.

Finally, a stroke of luck.

I take a step into the open area and realize I’m not stepping on grass. It’s all just roots. The whole ground is just a network of pulsating veins. The one under my foot glows and then pulses, a green ball of energy shooting forth from it. We continue into the clearing. More pulses in all directions, like little messenger beacons, announcing our presence.

The trees on the edge start to shake and groan.

Oh. no.

From each trunk comes a husk. Each and every one. Too late I realize the trap. The clearing is like an arena now. And we are surrounded, with no retreat. I look at my companions and see that they’ve realized it as well.

Dauntless stirs nervously. “Sire, what should we do?”

I grasp the hilt of my sword tightly. “The only thing we can do, Dauntless. We fight.”