An Arboreal Encounter

The fire crackled and danced in the clearing. Logs split and shifted. Tongues of flame reached for the dark sky as if praising the full moon. The light cast shadows across Eric’s face as he sat, mesmerised by the flames. In the flickering, twisting tongues he imagined he could see his future.

Shapes came and went. There he was in black armour atop a beetle the size of a horse, horned protrusion levelled like a second lance in the charge. Then he was in plate of gold riding a rearing griffon, claws bared and wings spread in challenge. Another shift and he was armoured in green with a cloak of leaves and a horned helm mounted on a magnificent elk.

“And then he brought him a chicken!”

The loud guffaws that greeted the punchline broke Eric’s reverie and the images faded. He shifted his gaze to where his three companions sat about the fire. His master, Baron von Fancyhat, resplendent in his finery even whilst on the hunt, was on his usual fine form, telling jokes and commanding the attention of his companions. Sat next to him on the log they shared, Sir Guillemot Poppycock chortled along with the jape, taking deep gulps of the wine from the goblet he held in his outstretched hand.

The final member of their party sat to Sir Poppycock’s other side. Sir Clemency Hogswash was technically a lord in his own right yet refused to adopt the title whilst his father yet lived. Yet despite his title, he was still the member of Sir Poppycock’s household that had been selected for this hunt, just as Eric had been for his master.

The squire briefly wondered if it was a sign that the baron was considering him for knighthood and somehow saw him on par with Sir Poppycock’s knightly friend. He quickly dismissed the notion. In their time together, Sir Hogswash had not so much as lifted a finger to help, whilst he, Eric, had picked up squiring duties for everyone, including the knight.

No, Eric reflected, he had been brought along to be a squire and nothing more. He would just have to do his best to prove his knightly prowess when they located their quarry and then hope that the baron was paying attention enough to notice.

There was a grunt and a squeal as Sir Hogswash’s porcine mount, Trotters, stirred from his slumber.

“Easy, old boy,” said the knight, not taking his eyes from his companions as he absently reached around and scratched the huge boar between the ears.

Trotters regarded Eric solemnly with unblinking eyes. Eric couldn’t decide if the look was one of challenge or simple vacancy. He wouldn’t have been surprised either way. The hog certainly got treated better than he did.

The pig’s gaze shifted. The movement was almost imperceptible so as to go undetected by anyone not paying attention. But Eric was paying attention and did notice. Trotters appeared to be starting at a point just over Eric’s shoulder.

Frowning in puzzlement, Eric turned slowly to regard the tree line behind him. At first he saw nothing but the foliage, crowding the clearing as if trying to warm itself by the fire. The more he stared, the more the light and shade began to take form. A mouth here. An eye socket there. And clawed hand’s everywhere.

One particular tree was further forward than the rest. It was stunted and hunched and very, very lonely. Eric couldn’t help but stare at it, so out of place it seemed. His imagination populated it with arms, legs, eye sockets and a mouth, the latter of which suddenly moved.

Eric jumped to his feet with a cry of surprise, scooping his wooden sword from the forest floor as he did so. He held out the weapon before him, scanning the tree line as he backed slowly away. The solitary tree was gone.

“Easy, Eric!” the baron called. “You’ll fall into the fire if you’re not careful!”

Eric checked his retreat. He was indeed backing into the fire. He cast his gaze about the clearing, blood pumping furiously in his ears, and cursed himself for his reactions. They were hardly those of a prospective knight!

Eric glanced back towards Trotters. The pig was once again still, this time staring at Baron von Fancyhat. Eric followed his gaze, squinting against the harsh light of the fire into the shadows beyond. The edges of light picked up leaves and branches that were much closer to the seated men than Eric recalled them being when first they made camp.

As he watched, one of the branches reached out and, with great delicacy, speared the glorious plumed hat that topped Eric’s master’s head.

“You see, Clemency, if you really want to deal with the pirate threat you simply must-”

Baron von Fancyhat paused mid-sentence as his headpiece was lifted gently from its resting place. His body remained still but his eyes swivelled upwards as if not quite believing what was occurring.

The baron moved from stationary to striking in one fluid movement. One moment he was seated, the next he was swirling about, pulling his sword from its scabbard and scything it upward in a rising attack that slashed clean through the mass of branches behind him, which parted with a pitiful squeak.

The briefly misappropriated headwear tumbled in suspense momentarily before the baron snatched it out of the air, holding it close as he examined it.

“My hat!” he cried. “Look what that…that…thing did to my hat!”

He raced around the fire and held out the damaged article to Eric.

“What are we going to do?” he demanded.

Eric shivered. Get out of these woods for one thing, he thought, though he did not express the notion out loud. After all, it was not a knightly thing to think and certainly not a knightly thing to say.

The other men were on their feet, casting their gazes about them suspiciously.

“What was it, Archie?” Sir Poppycock asked, waxed moustache bristling with indignation.

“A tree, Guille,” wailed the baron. “A tree molested my favourite hat!”

“Don’t worry, old chap,” Sir Poppycock assured him, hefting his great warhammer in both hands. “Any more bother and we’ll be ready for them!”

But they weren’t ready. Sir Poppycock’s attention had been too much on his friend and not enough on his surroundings. Eric’s found his mouth open in an “O” of surprise but no sound came out as he saw a branch snaking over the old lord’s shoulder to caress the exotic feathers that adorned it. It was a most curious behaviour, like a child exploring a new sensation.

Suddenly Sir Poppycock noticed Eric’s expression, glanced at his shoulder and gave a yell of startled surprise. With a roar he span, swinging his warhammer low. The head passed in a mighty transverse arc through the air, the glow of the firelight giving it the impression of an unstoppable comet. Eric had the briefest notion of a squat figure, all twigs and branches, with what he could only describe as a shocked expression on its face as the hammer took it out at what he could best describe as knee level. The tree creature was smashed sideways in a mass of splinters and broken twigs, disintegrating into kindling

“What are those things?” Sir Poppycock demanded, brushing twigs from his shoulders as he rose to his feet.

“I have no idea, Guille, but they’ll pay for what they’ve done to my hat!”

“Of course!” Sir Hogswash chimed in. “Maybe they’ve been sent by the enemy! Maybe we’re getting close to what we seek!”

Eric did not speak his thoughts. The things had seemed more curious than threatening. They had stolen the baron’s hat and caressed the lord’s feathers, both colourful items that would be attractive to an inquisitive and simplistic mind. They had been behind both warriors and not struck. They did not seem like the actions of an enemy.

There was a sudden squeal from the far side of the camp and Eric glanced sharply towards where Trotters was on his feet, running in a circle and trying to get at the tree thing that had clung onto his tail.

“Trotters!” cried Sir Hogswash in dismay. “What is that evil thing doing to you?”

All three men rushed forward, with Sir Hogswash in the lead, to try and intervene, but the boar’s maddened rampage was so fierce that none could get near. Round and round they went, careening across the clearing like a tornado across land, getting closer and closer to the fire until eventually, with a yelp, the tree creature was dragged across the flames. It released the tail of the boar, who darted off into the trees, and rolled upright before trying to beat out the flames that had caught across its form.

The three men were upon it in an instant. The baron’s sword took off an arm. Sir Poppycock’s warhammer arced down from above, smashing the thing Into the ground. Sir Hogswash, now mountless, ran to the spot where the tree being had fallen and jumped about on the remains, for what little good it would do.

“My poor hat!” the baron wailed, still holding up the damaged article.

“My poor Trotters!” Sir Hogswash countered.

“Yes,” said the baron reluctantly. “Quite. Let’s go and find him, then?”

“Of course we must!” Sir Poppycock announced. “And may Gary help any more tree beasts who stand in our way!”

He charged into the forest with Sir Hogswash following bowleggedly behind.

“Come, Eric,” Baron von Fancyhat commanded, setting his damaged headwear atop his head with considerable reluctance. “Let us go find this wayward boar.”

Eric was still glancing about the clearing. “Yes, Sir,” he acknowledged. “I’ll be right behind you, Sir.”

Satisfied that his command would be obeyed, the baron charged after his companions. Eric followed behind him, though slower than his master, deep in thought. Several paces along the path from the clearing he darted into the trees to one side and doubled back on himself, approaching the camp at a low crouch and trying to remain as silent as possible. Upon reaching the tree line he found a comfortable position and settled down. He didn’t have to wait long.

A rustling in the trees away to the right heralded the emergence of the tree creature. It was squat and stooped and crept along in a series of hesitant steps. In some way Eric could not quite reconcile, he knew that this was the same creature that had speared the baron’s hat, stroked Sir Poppycock’s feathers and held onto Trotters’ tail. Not multiple treefolk; just this one.

Slowly it approached the fire and, in jerking movements, as if it did not want to get too close, it tugged at the ends of the larger logs, pulling them free of the mass. The creature worked methodically until the whole fire had collapsed, at which point it set to digging up clumps of earth and tossing them on the embers, smothering them.

Eric could see that the creature’s work was almost done, at which point it would likely make off into the woods before the humans returned. He did not want to miss his chance.

“So that was all you wanted!” he exclaimed as he stood and stepped from the tree line.

The creature cried out in surprise and stepped away from where Eric had emerged, scampering like a dog to keep distance between them.

Eric hesitated in his advance and held out a hand.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

Hesitant at first, the creature advanced, then quicker until mere feet separated them. Eric held his ground and did not so much as flinch as the thing held out a hand and clasped his own. The bark felt surprisingly warm to the touch.

“I’m Eric,” said Eric, pointing at himself. “Can you speak?”

The creature pointed to itself in turn. “I am Ruwt.”

The voice was like the creak of timber under tension and took Eric by surprise, though he could not say what he had been expecting.

“Well, Ruwt, it’s nice to meet you,” said Eric, “but my companions will return soon and I don’t think they’d take too kindly to your presence here.”

Ruwt nodded understanding.

“I’ll go and join them and keep them away for as long as possible,” Eric offered, “and in the mean time you need to get yourself away. No more mischief, do you hear?”

Again Ruwt nodded. Eric nodded in return. An accord had been reached.

With swift strides he made in the direction the baron had taken, eager to catch up and fulfil his end of the bargain with his new friend. He glanced behind him as he went, expecting to see that Ruwt had already disappeared. But there the treefolk stood, watching him intently, and all Eric could hope as he passed into the forest was that the little creature would do as they had agreed.

Once Eric had gone, there was a further rustling in the bushes and a red fox emerged, shaking loose leaves from her coat. The shakes became more vigorous and then the fox’s whole body was contorting, twisting in the direction of the shake and morphing into a storm of leaves. When they settled, they revealed the form of a woman, lithe and red-headed, clad in loose strips of green cloth.

She continued her advance, stopping only when she reached Ruwt’s side. The little treefolk had shown no interest in the fox-woman’s appearance and they bucked their head sideways as she scratched affectionately at the new sprigs that sprouted from their head.

A knowing smile played on the woman’s lips and keen, green eyes watched the path Eric had taken.

“You did well, Ruwt,” she praised, and her voice was like the call of birds in spring, ethereal and light. “That boy sees more than what is there. He sees beyond. He is special. We will need to keep an eye on him.”