Champion! — The Forest

The trouble began when the silence changed. The usual chatter of the squirrels and the rhythmic drumming of the woodpeckers stopped. In its place came the mechanical clunk-shriek of iron meeting ancient root.

The Iron-Bound had come. They were men who had forgotten the language of the leaves, encased in steam-hissing suits of metal, driven by a hunger for the "Heart-Sap"—the glowing amber essence that kept the forest eternally green. The Forest Champion!

He swung a mechanical claw, but Elara didn't flinch. She slammed the butt of her rowan staff into the soft loam. “Listen,” she whispered. The trouble began when the silence changed

"The wood has denied your entry," she said, her voice like the rustle of dry leaves. The Iron-Bound had come

Elara didn't charge them with a battle cry. She simply stepped out from behind a massive fern, her eyes reflecting the deep emerald of the canopy.

With a wave of her hand, the roots retracted, depositing the terrified men and their ruined machines back toward the edge of the tree line.

The steam-suits were pinned, held fast by a grip that had endured for a thousand winters. Elara walked toward the lead harvester, who was now dangling five feet off the ground, held by a vine as thick as his torso.