Albicaul lay sprawled out on a flat stone precipice, high up the side of his mountain, enjoying the warm prickles of the last orange rays of sunlight. The sun was setting behind the mountains on the far side of the valley, and the pine forest below had already settled into shadow. Far off in the distance, he could see lights glimmering where the river left the forest to meander through the fields and farms of the valley's human population.

He had meant to get up and move back to his comfortable cave once the last light faded, but as he sniffed the chill air, savoring the familiar autumnal scents of the pine forest, he felt like laying here just a little bit longer.

He yawned, and then sniffed again. There was something else, something less welcome... a faint hint of smoke. With a growl of annoyance, he reluctantly got to his feet and padded down the rocky slope into the forest.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Dry twigs and pine-cones crunched beneath his paws. The pines grew denser as he descended the mountain slope, deadening the air and muting sound, but Albicaul's nose led him unerringly towards the campfire. He hated dealing with humans, but ignoring them would just encourage them to keep invading the forest. Somebody had to run them off, and so long as the old dryad still slept, the great bear was the strongest in these woods.

Especially with his Voice.

"Silence my footsteps," Albicaul commanded the forest.

The trees knew his Voice, and, somehow, he got the sense that they were no happier about the intruders than he was. He heard the faint sound of wind rustling through branches as they shifted to comply. Thick roots nudged their way out of the ground to give his paws firm footing, and branches moved out of the way of their own accord. With their help, he padded almost silently up to the edge of a clearing, just outside the ring of firelight.

Three hunters sat around a campfire, draped in the oilskin cloaks they used to make up for their lack of fur. One turned a portion of a deer carcass on a spit, roasting it over the small fire. Near the fire, bedrolls had been laid out, and their weapons were leaning up against a tree. Only one of the hunters had his crossbow within arm's reach.

"I still say the demon-bear ain't real," said one of the hunters stubbornly. He was stout as a boar, with an unkempt beard, and waved a small bottle of alcohol. "Normal bears, aye, but you leave them be, they'll leave you be. It's the wolves you got to watch out for." He gave the woods a nervous glance.

The hunter turning the spit, thin and wiry with a face like a weasel, shook his head. "Wolves're smarter than bears, aye, but they know better than to mess with strong hunters like us. A bear, now! If you startle a bear, it's more likely to attack you than run."

"You are both ignorant," the third hunter said sternly. He spoke with precise dictation, and seemed older than the others. His bushy eyebrows drew together in a line as he scowled. "I spoke at length with a man who survived the demon-bear. I am certain he was neither a liar nor a fool. The creature exists, and it is dangerous. It will kill you if you underestimate it."

"It will kill you anyway," Albicaul said.

There was a moment of paralyzed silence as the hunters stared in his direction, trying to see the source of the voice through the gloom. The flickering firelight barely illuminated the great bear as he slowly rose to his full towering height.

"Demon!" the stout hunter shrieked, scrambling backwards. "Run!"

The weasel-faced hunter leaped up like a jackrabbit, taking his companion's advice and fleeing headlong into the woods after him. Another wolf howl, closer this time, cut through the forest in that direction.

The old hunter grabbed for the crossbow lying next to him instead of running. Albicaul snarled, and roots burst out of the ground, tangling the weapon and leaving long scratches on the hunter's arm as he jerked away, stumbling to his feet.

Albicaul circled slowly around the fire. "You should not have trespassed on my mountain."

"It is true, then. You are a demon," the old hunter said, stumbling as he scrambled to keep the campfire between them. His hands shook as he tried to summon up some kind of magic between his palms.

Albicaul stopped as he eyed the spell, a pathetic attempt at a tiny ball of fire. He doubted it would have been enough to bother him, even before he'd been remade by the Voice. But the rest of the forest was another matter. It had been a dry summer, even up here, and a careless flame could easily blaze out of control.

"Put it out," Albicaul said.

The old hunter stared at him for a second. "Fire," he said, a faint hope kindling in his expression. "Of course. You fear it, like all beasts." He backed slowly towards the dark forest, holding the roiling seed of fire like a shield in front of him. "Stay back, fiend. Stay!"

Albicaul rose to his hind legs with a growl, and the frightened human panicked, hurling the flame at the great bear. Somehow, he missed entirely, and the spark sailed off into the darkness.

Furious, Albicaul spun and charged off in the direction the spell had gone. The hunter might escape, but this was a bigger threat. This old forest had gone for years without a fire, and the accumulated brush and undergrowth would make this a bad one.

And the forest was his home. He liked it better alive than burnt.

He almost passed the tiny flame, nestled where it had landed under the low-hanging arms of a spruce tree, but a faint thread of smoke gave it away. Albicaul carefully reached under the tree with a massive paw and smothered the fire, then scooped out the gleaming embers and crushed them into the dirt.

When he was satisfied that no life remained in the embers, he turned back to the clearing. The hunters had not returned, and he reluctantly considered pursuing them to make sure they were gone for good.

"Danger!" a wolf yipped from somewhere nearby. "The great bear is hunting tonight! Be careful!"

Albicaul's lips curled over his fangs.

"Pyotr," he said, speaking with his dryad's Voice so the wolf could understand him. "Come."

After a moment, a grey wolf emerged from the shadows at the edge of the circle of firelight. He ducked his head and moved around the edge of the camp, sniffing at the remains of the hunters' deer carcass, but respectfully avoided eye contact. "We have not interfered with your hunt," he finally whined.

"There were three hunters," Albicaul said. "You may have two of them, if you can catch them. Let one escape to warn the other humans."

Pyotr's tongue lolled out in the wolfish equivalent of a laugh. "We hunt!"

The way of the forest could be brutal, by human standards, but Albicaul was not terribly concerned with human standards. Here, in the forest, they hunted, and were hunted in turn; strength alone ruled. If Pyotr's pack was stronger than the human hunters, then they had a right to whatever they could take.

So did Albicaul, of course, but he had no taste for human flesh, and chasing the fleeing hunters would be more effort than it was worth. He picked up the rest of the deer carcass in his jaws. It had not yet been ruined by the fire, the way humans liked it, so it would do.

Now that the action was over, he was more than ready to return to his cave to rest. He was lumbering towards the trees when he felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise and heard Pyotr's warning growl. Something plummeted from the sky with a shrieking hiss.

Albicaul spun as Pyotr leaped to the side, narrowly avoiding a large metallic sphere that struck the ground where he'd been a moment before. The wolf snarled, backing off, as it let out a puff of steam and another hiss. The dying campfire reflected amber on the thing's metallic carapace.

Three spider-like legs extended from the side of the sphere and flailed in the air for a moment. Then two metallic tentacles snaked out and pushed the sphere upright, tilting it up onto its legs. The whole thing gave off a sense of heat, like the magical fire the hunter had just summoned.

Albicaul had never seen anything like it, but he was vaguely aware of the concept of mechanical constructs. He could not imagine any good reason for one to be here.

As if sensing Albicaul's attention, the spherical construct pivoted towards him, shuffling its feet with a muffled clicking sound.

Pyotr took advantage of the construct's distraction and tried to bite one of its legs. When his teeth failed to so much as dent the metal, he backed off again, grumbling.

Ignoring the wolf, the construct moved towards Albicaul. It withdrew its tentacles for a moment, and when they re-emerged, the tips had been replaced with heavy billhooks, like the curved blades that woodsmen sometimes carried for clearing brush.

"Aid me," Albicaul called, and the Voice's power reached out to the forest around him. He felt an unusually vehement anger radiating from the forest, and it responded to his call willingly. Their spirits lit up his claws and fangs with a shining green light.

The trees' rage was contagious. As the construct closed within range, Albicaul swiped out with a huge paw. His enhanced claws sliced through the metal skin like soft earth, tearing it open.

He was startled to see that, rather than more metal, there was a small creature made of flames inside. It jabbered something incomprehensible, then gesticulated wildly, causing the tentacles to stab out at Albicaul. He batted them aside easily and, with a roar, smashed the top of the metal thing into the ground, crushing the fire spirit inside. There was a faint puff of smoke, and the sense of heat he'd felt vanished as the machine went limp.

"It is too hard to bite," Pyotr grumbled. "What is it?"

Albicaul growled. "A fire-spirit in armor. Someone attacks our forest."

He could hear more of the ominous hissing sounds as the fire-spirits' constructs landed in the trees around them, and cries arose as the forest's denizens fled in terror.

"Tonight," Albicaul said, "we hunt together. I will lend you my strength."

He lifted his head and roared out a challenge. Pyotr howled in response, and the voices of his pack joined in from the dark woods around them. Albicaul could feel a connection with the rest of the pack snap into place, and he spoke.

"Fight with me! Drive them from our home."

The power of the Voice flooded out to the rest of the pack, giving their fangs the same supernatural blessing as his own. Pyotr disappeared into the forest to join them.

Albicaul took up a position in the middle of the clearing. "Bring them to me," he commanded the trees, and they showed him the armored fire-spirits suddenly impeded by branches. Some cut or smashed their way through, but more turned down easier paths. Paths that led to his clearing.

One by one, the fire-spirits began to trickle out of the trees. Each time they spotted Albicaul, they would charge, expecting yet another helpless victim. The power of the Voice nullified the advantage of their armor, however, making them little more than playthings for the great bear. Even when they started appearing in twos and threes, he was able to crush them easily. Many were limping along on damaged legs, or using their tentacles for support, a testament to the pack's harrying tactics.

The shattered constructs piled up like insect husks around the clearing as he fought on. The fire-spirits had little sense for tactics, and Albicaul fought with overwhelming force. When they surrounded him, he spun, slashing out with claws and fangs. When they grouped together, he charged, crushing and scattering them with his weight. The knives on their tentacles struggled to pierce his thick hide, and when they did, barely drew blood.

Still, more poured out of the trees, unrelenting. And the cuts were beginning to add up.

Then disaster struck. With a blow, he ripped the entire top off one of the constructs and sent it flying back into the remains of the hunters' campfire. The surviving fire-spirit spilled out, and the glowing embers of the campfire roared to life as it tried to run away. Albicaul hurled another of the constructs after it, crushing both, but the flames it had started spread across the dry tinder of the forest floor.

He tried to bull forwards to put it out, but the fire-spirits swarmed fiercely around him. The fire seemed to give them more strength, and two of their knives stabbed through his hide before he was forced back. Another of the constructs hurled itself over its comrades, nearly taking out his eye. He smashed it to pieces, but while he was held back, the fire reached one of the tall dead pines at the edge of the clearing. It blazed up into an inferno, beyond even Albicaul's abilities to control.

He let out a roar of impotent rage. With one last look at the spreading flames, he turned and charged out of the clearing.

The fire-spirits followed, reveling in their spree of destruction. He swatted a few away as he ran through the trees, but more spotted him through the gloom and joined in the chase.

He could hear the wolves howling through the trees, and soon Pyotr appeared alongside him. "Make for the river," Albicaul said, not slackening his pace. "The fire will not spread past it."

Pyotr howled, passing on the orders, and the pack howled their acknowledgement. "We will kill them all," the wolf exulted. He was panting and blood trickled from a gash in his side, but a fire of an entirely different kind burned inside him.

Albicaul was becoming less certain that killing all of these fire-spirits was possible, but Pyotr's single-minded hatred helped.

A silvery ribbon spread out in front of them, and Albicaul splashed out into the shallow river. On the first sandbar, he turned back to face the woods. The moon was a faint sliver in the sky, but the stars hung low and bright, and he could see the shape of more wolves slipping from the forest to gather around him.

Somewhere along the way, the fire-spirits had fallen behind. As they stood in tense silence, Albicaul could see the faint haze of smoke rising above the forest, and in the distance saw the orange flickers of flame.

Then, with a soft clicking sound, shadows emerged from the trees, gathering at the riverbank. More and more of the three-legged constructs appeared, spreading up and down the river, but they seemed hesitant to step out into the water.

The wolves, scenting weakness, let out an eager howl of challenge. Even Albicaul felt an irrational surge of hope at their hesitation.

Several of the constructs disappeared back into the forest, but most remained, shuffling in place. There was a loud, metallic roaring sound from the forest, but Albicaul could make out nothing until a pine, taller than the rest, toppled slowly towards the river.

The wolves scattered to either side, and the tree crashed down, bridging the bank and the sandbar. The armored fire-spirits swarmed across the tree, their metal legs digging into the tree trunk like claws. The few that fell off the side spasmed in the water as if they'd fallen in acid, but Albicaul could see no visible damage. As the enemy poured across, he and the wolves set back to their grim work.

Soon, empty armor shells were piling up in the river, but still the horde seemed endless. Albicaul was beginning to feel the weight of exhaustion, and the wolves were faring worse.

One of the wolves took an opportunistic lunge at a fire-spirit which stood too close to the water, aiming to knock it in, but three other constructs pounced. She yelped and struggled as their sharp billhooks stabbed into her hide, but Albicaul was fighting off eleven more, and could not spare the attention to help. Her enhanced claws slashed across the legs of one of the constructs, slicing clean through the metal, and threw off its balance enough that the tangle of them rolled clear into the stream. The fallen fire-spirits spasmed and flailed in the water, but the wolf too lay where she'd fallen.

Time passed in a haze of blood, adrenaline, and the grating sound of metallic clicking. One by one, Albicaul felt the wolves go down, overwhelmed by the relentless tide of enemies. Each time, the pressure mounted, and Albicaul was driven back, step by step, to the end of the sandbar. Pyotr fought viciously beside him, keeping them from pushing around to his back, but the enemy seemed endless.

Then, the forest itself came to their rescue. Vines exploded from the shore, hurling the constructs from the tree they were using as a bridge. The plants slithered across the sandbar, tangling the constructs' legs and tipping them into the water. Albicaul swatted the last one into the river himself, then glared around, snarling, waiting for another attack.

None materialized, and the adrenaline began to fade under the weight of exhaustion. Albicaul shook his head, trying to get his bearings. Someone had invoked the power of the Voice, but the forest had responded with strength and alacrity far beyond anything he'd ever experienced.

Further up the shore, a few more of the armored fire-spirits were being overwhelmed by the tangling vegetation. It snared them and dragged them down to smother them in the earth.

Albicaul huffed out long deep breaths, resisting the urge to collapse. He looked down at Pyotr, who was splayed out on the edge of the sandbar, breathing shallowly, and bleeding from dozens of wounds. When he looked up, the dryad stood before him.

She looked like an old, hunched-over human woman, with a sharp chin and pale wrinkled bark instead of skin. Her hair was short, straight, and resembled evergreen needles. Her eyes glittered a bright emerald green in the starlight, and seemed to see right through him.

Albicaul had never seen her before, but he knew the scent of her authority intimately. Of course the forest had responded with such loyalty.

"Lady of the Forest," he said, bowing his head low to the ground. "I failed to protect your woods."

She snorted with kindly amusement. "I do appreciate your help, dear, but you are only one bear." She patted him on the shoulder, and he felt his strength reviving under her touch. "You must be Albicaul. You have my sister's inheritance, but I can see you've yet to come into its power. No, I am the one who is responsible for this forest."

He lifted his head in stiff pride. "It is my home, Lady of the Forest."

"And mine," she said, smiling up at him. "And please. My name is Hortense."

Before Albicaul could respond, a crashing sound echoed from the forest as an enormous construct, supported by six huge spider legs, bulled its way through the trees. Pines split and toppled to either side as it stomped out onto the riverbank.

Albicaul growled and started forward, but Hortense laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let me deal with it, dear."

She gestured, and roots sprang up from the ground to entangle the giant construct's legs. It ignored them, pulling free with ease, and stepped out into the water. Unlike the smaller constructs, it didn't react at all to the running water, and lumbered forward with surprising grace.

Hortense hissed and crooked a claw at the water. A jagged boulder erupted from the river, driving up towards the spider-tank's underbelly. The boulder glanced off, scoring a gash in its side, but the construct kept coming.

Hortense vanished, a few leaves drifting to the ground in the place where she had been standing, and reappeared on the river bank. She was doing something - Albicaul did not know the Voice well enough to follow what, exactly - and the forest was responding.

A volley of thick, sharpened branches hurtled out of the woods, mostly staggering the construct, but a few found joints in the construct's armor and wedged in, hampering its movements. It turned and charged back at Hortense, who summoned another jagged boulder from the ground just ahead. The construct tried to veer to the side, but was unable to halt its momentum. Its left foreleg hit the rock hard and shattered with the impact.

With its remaining legs, the giant construct heaved itself up onto the river bank, shoving through the tangles of roots that tried to slow it down. Hortense drifted back, gaining space, as she gathered motes of glowing green energy, which zipped out of the forest and spun around her like fireflies.

Once it gained its footing atop the riverbank, compartments on the construct's sides opened, and two large crossbows slid out. They swiveled towards Hortense, and then fired a pair of bolts with incredible force. Two of Hortense's glowing green lights reacted on their own and sprang up to meet the crossbow bolts, which shattered in midair with a thunderous crash. The crossbows withdrew back inside.

The dryad waved one gnarled claw of a hand, and the remaining green motes spiraled up around the spider-tank. They dove down and began burrowing into the cracks between its metal plates.

Those green specks reminded Albicaul, somehow, of the ponderous strength of the old oaks in the heart of the forest.

As the dryad's power went to work, the construct's spider legs began to spasm, jerking it back and forth. Another compartment on the top of the tank sprang open, revealing an even larger crossbow with a fire spirit in some kind of glass jar. As it swung around to point at Hortense, Albicaul was gripped by a terrible feeling of dread.

The fire-spirit let out a shriek as it exploded into a line of fire, lancing out of the crossbow towards Hortense. In the same moment, one of the spider-tank's remaining legs burst apart as roots forced it apart from the inside. The construct toppled sideways as it fired, and the beam of fire slashed across the forest and carved trees in half. More plates of metal came apart as it fell into the river, and several more fire-spirits fell out of the wreckage, letting out faint hissing shrieks as they suffocated in the water.

Albicaul waded into the river towards the construct. He was certain that Hortense had been hit, but he couldn't see her through the haze of smoke from the burning forest.

He cast back and forth, searching, and was beginning to fear the worst when he spotted her. The dryad was barely floating, face down in the water.

He picked her up gently in his jaws, carried her back up onto the sandbar, and laid her down gently next to Pyotr. The wolf, for his part, still stubbornly clung to life.

Hortense's left arm and part of her side had been burned off completely. For a few minutes, she lay there motionless, her green eyes staring blankly up at the smoky haze, and Albicaul wondered if he had been too late.

"Hortense," he said after a while, nudging her with his nose. "Are you still alive?"

Her remaining arm lifted slowly to point upwards, though her gaze remained unfocused. Then she seemed to start awake. "Oh... Albicaul. Thank you. I'm sorry, I..." She took a ragged breath. "That took a lot out of me."

Albicaul looked over where the shattered construct lay, motionless, blending in with the shadows of the treeline. "I did not know dryads could be so strong." He could not keep the note of envy from his voice.

"Not strong enough," she said bleakly, propping herself up into a sitting position. "I'm sorry, Albicaul. I am not as young as I once was. I should have been able to handle all six of those things, and I barely survived one." She touched the stump of her missing arm, which was slowly bleeding a sap-like fluid. Bark grew over the wound, but the arm did not regenerate.

Albicaul glared into the darkness. "There are more?"

"I'm afraid so," Hortense said. "The forest tells me there are five more of the big ones, and thousands more of the little ones. I don't know where their master is, but I'm in no shape to stop him even if I did."

After a moment of silence, Albicaul let out a huff. "Why aren't I stronger?"

Hortense tilted her head to look at him. "What do you mean, dear?"

"There is no hunter more feared than the great bear," Albicaul said. "With the Voice - your sister's Voice - I have more power than the rest of my kind ever did. But it is not enough."

The old dryad nodded along, saying nothing.

Albicaul settled back on his haunches. "Why are they so much stronger? Why are you?"

"Hmm," Hortense said.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the river rushing past. Albicaul was beginning to wonder if the dryad had forgotten his question when she spoke.

"You were born a creature of instinct," she said finally. "Your nature was to hunt and grow strong. Then my sister awoke you and left you her inheritance." She gazed up at the sky, though there was nothing to see through the haze. "Now you are something new. You're more than your instincts. You have more potential, but you won't grow stronger just by doing what feels natural."

"Then I can be stronger?"

"Oh, yes," Hortense said with a light laugh. She gestured up at the sky. "I know of at least one of your kind who has grown strong enough to ascend to the stars. But it's much easier for, say, humans, even without a gift like the Voice."

"Why?"

"Humans aren't born strong," Hortense said simply. "Their young have to learn and struggle. Where you have natural strength, they learn to rely on their cunning and their tools."

Albicaul thought of the hunters and nodded grimly.

"They are primed for this kind of growth from the beginning," Hortense said. "You have been accustomed to relying only on the strength given by your Creator. When a tree is awakened - which is how dryads normally pass on their Voice - we have to overcome a similar weakness. To become stronger, you must learn and grow the way humans do."

"How?" Albicaul asked.

"Take their form," she said, holding up her hand and flexing her fingers. "Live with them for a time and watch what they do. You are not yet strong enough to take human form on your own, but I can give you a start."

Albicaul glowered. "I do not want to become as weak as they are."

"With that attitude, I imagine you wouldn't be for long." She shook her head. "But I'm sorry, Albicaul. We're out of time. They have found us."

As if summoned by her words, the five remaining giant constructs emerged from the edge of the forest, one after another. They splashed down into the river, ignoring the rushing water, and spread out between the riverbank and the sandbar. Their large flame crossbows tracked Albicaul and Hortense, but they held their fire.

Hortense turned her back on the constructs, and at first Albicaul couldn't understand why. Then he realized she was looking at something, and swung his head around with a growl.

On the other side of the river, the silhouette of a tall, broad giant waded through chest-high trees. One large horn sprouted from its head. Albicaul could see a single red eye gleaming where its face would be, reflecting the light of the burning forest behind them. A horde of the three-legged fire-spirit constructs scuttled along through the trees at its feet.

"A cyclops," Hortense whispered, trembling. "It shouldn't be able to be here."

The giant figure stopped at the edge of the river and stared down at them, planting a staff the size of a tree into the earth beside him. Its face was hard to make out through the smoky haze, but Albicaul could see its lips curved into a sneer. "ONE OLD WOMAN, A MANGY BEAR, AND A HALF-DEAD DOG. I'M DISAPPOINTED."

The cyclops' thunderous words were laden with a feeling of oppressive power, but they seemed to stir up a resolve in Hortense, who summoned more of the glowing green tree-spirits to hover around her.

"Leave this place," she said, raising her good hand. She flicked her fingers and the tree-spirits floated across the water towards the cyclops.

The cyclops' mouth flattened in an expression of annoyance. Purple lines lit up along his staff, and several of the armored fire-spirits beside him were hurled into the air to intercept the glowing green motes. Only one of the motes made it through to the cyclops, and he seized it in his fist and squeezed. When he opened his palm, the light was gone.

"HA!" the cyclops gloated. "YOUR POWER CANNOT HURT ME, OLD HAG." He waved at the forest behind them, where flames were visible above the treetops. "I HAVE PLENTY OF MINIONS, BUT YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF TREES." He took a step forward, his huge feet splashing into the river and settling into the pebbles beneath the surface.

"THE HUMANS DO NOT GIVE YOU THE CREDIT YOU DESERVE," he continued at the same head-splitting volume. "MANY OF OUR COMMANDERS FEARED YOU DRYADS. NOT ME, OF COURSE." He let out a roaring wheeze that must have been a laugh. "BUT YOU ARE NOT AS STRONG AS YOU USED TO BE."

"No," Hortense said sadly, looking up at the stars. "We are not."

"AND NOW THAT THE HEAVENS KNOW," the cyclops said, "YOUR WORLD... IS..." He trailed off, following the dryad's gaze upwards.

Albicaul, at first, was not sure what he was seeing. The stars had begun to peek through the smoky haze, but the smoke itself had if anything grown thicker. It shouldn't have been possible to see anything through it. But the starlight continued to brighten until it was sharp, piercing, like icy silver spears stabbing through the clouds of smoke.

"Hello, Lucius," a lazy voice drawled.

Albicaul was startled to see an ordinary-looking human standing on top of the river next to the cyclops. Water flowed by beneath his feet, but he seemed as comfortable as if he were standing on solid ground. Despite the darkness, the man was as clearly illuminated as if he'd been standing under a full moon, wearing simple traveler's clothes of a style not too different from the hunters he'd seen earlier.

Lucius' reaction was more dramatic, as he let out an undignified shriek and stumbled to the side, splashing back up the river a couple paces. "NO! WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"Hey, Hortense," the man said, ignoring the cyclops' question and waving to the dryad. "Ooh, ouch. That looks rough. Mind if I -?" He was suddenly standing in front of Hortense, and Albicaul flinched back, unable to help himself. The man grinned at him and then touched a finger to the stump of Hortense's shattered arm. Silver light flowed around his hand and into Hortense's shoulder, and she let out a sigh of relief as the starlight sketched out the lines of the arm she'd lost. It shimmered, solidified, and then vanished, leaving a perfectly regenerated limb.

Hortense flexed her new fingers, then wrapped both arms around the man's midsection in a hug. "Michael. Thank you for coming, dear. You are too kind to an old dryad."

"Aww, come on. You know you only have to call." He patted her on the back.

The affectionate reunion was interrupted by a tentative splashing sound. Three heads swiveled to stare at the giant cyclops, who froze in the middle of tiptoeing upstream. A sense of danger flooded the area, and the hackles on the back of Albicaul's neck went up as his instincts suddenly screamed at him to run. But no one moved for several long, slow seconds.

Finally, the cyclops, unable to stand the silence, broke. "YOU CANNOT KILL ME," he said, pointing at Michael. His thunderous voice shook. "THE OVERLORD WON'T STAND FOR IT!"

"Hmm." Michael stepped out onto the water, gliding effortlessly towards the cyclops as though the river were polished ice. Lucius cowered back, but Michael stopped just out of reach and looked over him thoughtfully.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "I think you're right. It'd get political if I killed you." He shivered theatrically.

Lucius began to straighten, but froze as Michael continued.

"You're lucky you left my friend alive," he said, glancing back at Hortense. "Otherwise, you'd owe me a life. As it is, I believe you just owe me an arm."

Even from the sandbar, Albicaul felt that sense of danger pressing him down to the ground. The cyclops, under the weight of Michael's full attention, was shaking like a leaf. Albicaul watched in disbelief as the cyclops slowly summoned a glowing purple blade and, with a pained howl, slashed through its own arm. The limb fell to the river with a splash.

There was another moment of silence, and then Michael clapped his hands together. "The debt has been settled. Let's not do this again, okay?"

Lucius needed no further encouragement. He took off at speed up river, leaving his army of constructs behind.

Michael glided back to Hortense. "Well, if he doesn't want his toys." He waved his hand and the starlight above sharpened further, spearing down through the center of each of the constructs and pinning them in place. They flailed, the fire-spirits inside growing weaker by the second, until one by one they went still.

"Thank you," Hortense said. "Will he be back?"

"I doubt it," Michael said. "He's running for his portal formation. I'll get rid of it when he's gone. Do you want a hand with the fire?"

Hortense turned her gaze to the smoke rising from the north. "We should let it burn," she said finally. "The undergrowth needs to be cleared to prevent a worse wildfire. But I would appreciate it if you could help me get my pets out of the way."

Michael closed his eyes and stretched out his hands to the sides. Albicaul couldn't tell what he was doing, but silver light flashed between the trees in the distance. After a moment, he nodded. "I didn't expect so many to have survived the harvesters. You hid them well, Hortense."

She bowed her head. "It would not have been enough."

Michael nodded seriously. "I'm sorry I can't stay longer, but I've got to get back before the Overlord takes advantage of my absence. We're spread thin as it is, but I'll do what I can to get you some more protection."

He wrapped Hortense in another hug and then turned as if to go. He paused for a moment, then slowly turned and eyed Albicaul. "You're the one who got Odele's inheritance, aren't you?"

"Yes," Hortense answered for him. "Michael, this is Albicaul."

Michael's eyes flashed silver for a moment, and then he grinned. "Then again, Hortense, you might just have everything you need right here."

Albicaul lay on the flat stone precipice in front of his cave and watched as the stars vanished one by one into the grey light of dawn. The sky lightened gradually as the sun crept upward behind his mountain. Light spilled across the valley, beginning at the far mountaintops, and lazily meandering down towards the human towns, where he could already see threads of smoke rising from early morning cooking-fires.

Smoke still rose from his own forest. Eventually the sunlight, peeking over the top of the mountain, began to descend the tops of the tallest pines, driving back the early morning shadows. Albicaul felt an unconscious growl rising in his throat as the charred devastation was gradually illuminated. By the time the sunlight began to warm his fur, he had made his decision.

Hortense met him as he made his way down the mountainside, and they walked together in silence until they came to the edge of the forest. They stood together for a long moment, looking across the fields towards the human lands beyond.

"Goodbye, Albicaul," Hortense said, resting her hand on the great bear's shoulder. "I know you will make us proud." She spoke a command, and the power of her Voice flooded into him. "Take human form."

"I will be back," Albicaul said firmly. "I will protect the forest." A wave of intense agony forced him to his knees as his form began to change, but he heard her words clearly before he blacked out.

"No," Hortense said, shaking her head with a sad smile. "No, Albicaul. You will protect the world."