Oak opened his eyes to gaze into a sky where clouds danced in morning blues.

He was alive, and his body wasn’t in pain. He shifted, taking in the long drooping branches of the tree above him and the soothing whisper of a nearby brooke.

“So, you’re alive?” Wisp’s voice came from behind him.

Oak sat up and turned, taking in the much smaller dryad sitting against the trunk of a willow. She was difficult to see when she wasn’t moving, the sunlight filtered through the swaying canopy above painting her in speckles of light and green.

“Yes,” Oak said. He supposed he was alive. A hand running across his chest let him feel the long jagged scar of the blow that should have been his end. “Healed?” he wondered as he found the scar faded and cured. Still present, but not as awful as he would have expected.

“I tried,” Wisp said. “The Destroyer’s axe leaves its mark... now what?”

That was a question he was not prepared for, not yet. So he stood and looked about and into the sparse forest. This part of the Darkwoods wasn’t as thick and strong as others. There were clearings here and little glades where ponds grew in the spring. The Pixies loved these places, and sometimes a fairy ring would grow upon the ground for a fortnight.

Oak wandered over to the stream and stood at its edge, he ignored Wisp’s commentary as he soaking in the sound and the pleasant breeze, all signs that, while he had failed, he was still living.

The question remained, why had he failed?

The Destroyer was powerful, and dangerous, but he had hurt the human, he had made him bleed. Defeating him wasn’t imposible. There had to be something else, another solution that Oak was simply missing.

He replayed the fight. His clumsy shots with his bow. Strong and fast, yes, but he missed two times out of three. Then the fight itself, where his spear was more of a hindrance than a proper tool. It did allow him to fight from afar, from outside of the range of the Destroyer’s axe, but he had been slow to react, unprepared for the ferocity of the fight, and left floundering.

In the end, the failure had not been with the tool, but with its user. He was certain that tree-sister Broccoli was a formidable fighter if she knew so much about the making and use of these.

He had to strive to be more like her, a creature of capable violence that nonetheless was ready to extend a branch of peace.

Oak moved away from the stream, he would need room.

“Learn something?” Wisp asked.

“Yes,” Oak said. “Need practice.”

“You’re going to fight the Destroyer again?” Wisp asked with undisguised curiosity.

Oak paused for a long moment. He was a tree of few words, but this would require many. “I was not too weak. I was too... poor at using my tools. I will improve first.”

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“Need help?” Wisp wondered.

Oak considered it. “No.”

He moved to one of the nearby glades and allowed himself to take in the winds that spun around the opening in the forest for a moment. It was a nice area, peaceful and unbothered by animal or tree, with only the tall grasses around him for company and Wisp who moved to sit by the edges.

He summoned a spear, the long, now familiar wooden haft growing out of the ground until it stood as tall as he was next to him. He studied it for a moment, considered how to hold it to have greater reach, then how to move it to strike at more than one angle. The grips would need to be different for each task.

The tool was flexible, if the user was willing to change with it. It came down to him being willing to try new things, something he was naturally averse to doing.

Perhaps if he looked at it under a different light. This was a weapon to defend a home that had endured many seasons, perhaps it could emulate that as well.

Oak took the spear and began to swing it.

The morning crawled towards the afternoon which in turn turned to night. His arms burned from within and his bark chafed with the constant motions. More than once his spear had slipped from his grip and he found his hands covered in small cuts, but as the day turned to night and then morning returned, Oak was beginning to learn more about his tool, and more about the motions around it.

There was a vast depth to the spear alone, more than he had given credit initially. This was his failing. He had seen it as a simple tool for cutting and stabbing from afar, and it could do these things, but it could also do more.

Like the Spring the spear could be used to move, to push himself in one way or the other and it could introduce great change.

Like the blistering warmth of Summer, the spear could turn into a savage tool of cuts and jabs, introducing his adversary to a constant assault.

Like the Autumn leaf it could be dropped and thrown and used to disengage and prepare for rougher seasons.

And like the long Winter, the haft and blade could fend off the chill of an assault by standing its ground.

Congratulations! Through repeated actions you have unlocked the General Skill: Weapons Proficiency: Spear!

Oak paused as he read the World’s message and let its meaning soak into him. A success then, or perhaps a reward for a success that had already been achieved.

This was proof, proof that he was on the right path.

Oak tossed his spear aside.

“You’re done?” Wisp asked.

She was leaning against another tree, carefully rubbing at a stone so that, as it gained polish, it began to shine.

“No,” Oak said. “Time for a new tool.”

He would return to the spear, but not before learning the bow as well.

When he next met the Destroyer he would be ready in truth.