----------------------------------------

Grasping the tree's surface, he found the texture hauntingly familiar—it bore an uncanny resemblance to the silky skin of the enigmatic, red-lipped enchantress. However, devoid of the supernatural thrill and the surge of life that her presence had once offered, the rough bark could not fully awaken that same sensation. Yet, in its own right, it anchored him in reality, snapping him out of hallucinations where humans and arboreal beings were intertwined—a vision that now faded away, leaving behind only the majestic presence of an evergreen fir and a decaying birch tree.

Lost in a half-conscious reverie akin to emerging from an enigmatic trance, Morrigan stood motionless. It was then that a slight zephyr danced through the trees, stirring the foliage into a soft chorus. The wind grew bolder, urging the birch leaves to intensify their hushed conversation.

"Slay!" They seemed to mimic in rhythm with the wind's crescendo—a haunting reiteration of the command given by the woman with lips like spilled wine. "Slay! Aid us! Slay!"

Morrigan felt an inexplicable rage ignite within him, a fury so potent it propelled his legs into a fierce dash toward the ancient lodge that sheltered Valeran and his sons. The forest's whispers intensified, rising with the wind's crescendo.

"Vanquish them!" The leaves seemed to chant. "Deliver us! Vanquish!"

"I will be your champion! I will liberate you!" Morrigan caught himself shouting back, adrenaline fueling his every step as he plunged into the thicket. His mind was consumed by one goal: to face Valeran and his kin, to ensure they taste the anguish suffered by the fading girl.

Breaching the woodland's edge, he found himself awash in dazzling sunlight. He pushed onward for some moments before he became aware of a profound silence; the seductive rustling of leaves had dissipated into nothingness. As if breaking free from an entanglement of sorcery, the enchantment that had gripped him dissolved. Overcome with realization, Morrigan collapsed to the earth, pressing his face into the cool grass as if to quell his fevered senses.

There, sprawled against the ground, he fought to restore some semblance of clarity to his muddled thoughts. What sort of bewitchment had seized him? Was he truly prepared to unleash violence upon three men at the urging of a spectral maiden whose ghostly embrace still haunted him and prompted by the merest whispers of nature itself?

Could she have been nothing but a phantom born from an ornate daydream, a vision woven by the enchanting veils of mist that had caressed his boat? Such spectral encounters were not without precedent. Many a soul had spun elaborate illusions from mere stares into misty vapors, cascading waterfalls, shimmering crystal spheres, or the inky depths of ceremonial basins—each a portal to the realm of waking fantasies fueled by their innermost thoughts.

Perhaps it was the enchantment of the mists that had lured his psyche into a profound reverie. His innate bond with the forest and the lingering sorrow over the fallen birch could have conjured these apparitions, etching them onto his mesmerized mind's eye like spectral artists sketching on to a celestial canvas.

With the dawn's light piercing through the illusion, might it have unraveled this arcane charm? Was it then that his consciousness emerged from its captivated slumber, stepping back into reality with eyes wide open to the world’s true form?

Morrigan steadied himself, the aftermath of the intense sensation he had just passed through lingering in his body. Casting a final look over his shoulder at the now tranquil thicket, he noted its silent foliage, lacking the whispers that had earlier ignited a fire within him. The grove was deceptively calm, a mere collection of birches guarded by their towering fir allies. Still, the place had lost some of its former lighthearted charm, overshadowed as it was by a menacing vibe left by the enigmatic red-lipped woman. Whether she had been a fleeting hallucination or an otherworldly forest entity, her cryptic words resonated with an unsettling half-truth that Morrigan found impossible to completely dismiss.

With his back to the thicket, Morrigan experienced a sharpness in his thoughts. Even as he tried to rationalize, something primal in him clung stubbornly to the belief that there was more depth to his earlier visions than simple trickery. With this realization, he made up his mind that regardless of its mysterious allure, this little slice of woodland deserved to be safeguarded. Determined now more than ever, he committed himself to be the guardian of this mystical hideaway, choosing to downplay the odd spectral encounter as mere fancy, but propelled into action by the desire to preserve the wood's pure and captivating beauty nestled in nature's lush cradle.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

The ancient hunting retreat of Valeran loomed ominously in the distance, a mere quarter mile separating it from where I stood. A winding pathway, untended and overgrown with the wildness of the fields, beckoned me forward. With each step upon the path, I could feel the history of the land pulsate beneath my feet. Eventually, climbing the groaning steps that warned of their age and disrepair, I halted at the entryway to listen intently for any scraps of life stirring within. The subtle murmur of voices greeted me like a ghostly chorus from behind the wooden barrier.

I announced my presence with a firm knock. As if by some unseen cue, the door swayed open to reveal the formidable figure of Valeran with eyes sharp as flint, his suspicion written plainly across his features. Shadowing him closely was one of his sons; just as imposing and radiating an aura of bleak animosity.

From somewhere beyond us, amidst a nearby thicket, a hushed sighing carried on the wind—a forlorn whisper from between the trees that didn’t go unnoticed by Valeran or his son. Their focus shifted momentarily towards that distant rustle like two great hounds catching an unsettling scent. A transient shadow of malice flickered over their hardened faces before their scrutiny returned to me with increased intensity.

Valeran's voice pierced the tense air between us. "What is it you want?"

Ignoring his brusqueness, I started to compose my response with careful respect. "I've taken up temporary residence at the local inn—"

"I know well enough who you are," he interrupted, his voice slicing through my attempted introduction, as sharp as a blade. "The question stands—what is it that you're after?"

Unruffled by his abruptness I countered smoothly, "The air in this vicinity holds healing properties for me," keeping my temper at bay while asserting my purpose. "Therefore, I'm contemplating an extensive sojourn here—perhaps across seasons—until such time as my vitality is thoroughly restored. It's within my interests to acquire a portion of your lands upon which I might fashion a habitat distinctly mine."

"Indeed?" he retorted with a sneer cloaked in false pleasantness. "Perhaps then you might divulge why the inn—which caters superbly to your needs and where you've become quite the favored guest—is suddenly inadequate?"

"The simple truth," I responded with unyielding resolve, "is that isolation appeals greatly to me. The nearness of others is not conducive to my preferences nor my peace of mind. It's my deepest desire to stake claim to a stretch of terrain solely mine and there construct a sanctuary born from my own vision."

"Why do you come to me?" Valeran asked, an edge of mistrust coloring his words. "Beyond the lake, vast expanses await a buyer's hand. Over there, the air buzzes with life, unlike the solemn quietude that stands guard here. But out of all my lands, what piece has ensnared your attention?"

Morrigan's eyes lingered on a thicket beyond them. "That copse yonder," he said, indicating the cluster of birch and fir trees with a nonchalant gesture.

A knowing sigh escaped Valeran's lips silently; a wordless understanding flickered between him and his heirs. His gaze settled on Morrigan, heavy with unvoiced warnings.

"The forest you desire is not on the market," Valeran stated, his voice as solid as the ancient trunks of his trees.

Morrigan leaned forward, determination etched in his features. "I am willing to pay handsomely for it," he coaxed. "Name your rightful sum."

"The wood is beyond procurement," Valeran affirmed once more, his resolve as steadfast as the roots of the very copse in question. "No matter the treasure offered."

Morrigan tried to force a smirk, but a heavy cloak of despair draped over his soul, given the unwavering stance Valeran took against him. "Look around, you rule over leagues of terrain, and all I crave is a simple cluster of trees. My resources are ample—I have the luxury to chase after my fancies. I'm ready to offer you a king's ransom, as if I were buying every inch of your land, just for that modest patch."

"You describe what you want as trivial—a mere copse," Valeran said, each word heavy with purpose while his towering heir snorted derisively behind him. "Yet we both know it's more—much more than that, don't we? Your generous bid betrays your true interest, doesn't it? You're quite aware of its value since you also somehow unearthed our plans to raze it and you aim to stop us. Now tell me—who whispered these secrets in your ear?" Valeran demanded with a sneer.

The bitterness painted across Valeran's expression erupted as he advanced, snarling like a beast with teeth bared, and Morrigan recoiled on reflex.

"Just insignificant saplings!" Valeran spat out the words with venom. "So who has been speaking about our designs—tell me now, Pierre?"

Pierre's laugh rippled through the air once more, and Morrigan was once again swept up in the same blinding fury that had engulfed him amongst the rustling grove of trees. With a monumental effort, he regained his composure and made to depart from this fruitless confrontation. Yet before he could retreat, Valeran halted him.

"Stay a moment," Valeran called out more calmly this time. "Please, enter my home. There exist matters I wish to broach with you; secrets I'm inclined to share. Perchance there are also queries I'd like you to satisfy."