It was a good day for business, and a better day still for a walk through the forests afterward. At least, Lars would've said so. Having worked his usual routes earlier in the morning sun, the afternoons outside of harvest days were often the only free time he was allotted to explore the surrounding cities and landscapes-- a favorite pastime of his. Depending on the time of year, he often had far more time for it than not-- his work on the homestead never truly 'done', as it were-- and given how often his old man was beginning to become prone to throwing his back out (or claim to, at any rate) at the first sign of heavy lifting (or clearing last harvest's unusables), Lars never strayed too far from his home. Today was no different, though an adventure was an adventure no matter how you tried to tiptoe around it.
A tried, yet sturdy wooden horsecart sat on the side of the footfall-beaten road which lead twixt Northwatch and Darken Vei. The 'horse' had been pulling it along only moments earlier, returning from a merchant's rest just short of West Northwatch-- a small community of traders that he'd not known was even there, prior-- before commotion amidst the forests surrounding him alerted Lars to some potential danger nearby. He heard yelling, actual horseriding, and claims of monsters about.
How delightful!
The young man was no adventurer. In fact, as he carelessly began to follow the tracks of the horseback hunters into the forests proper, equipped with little more than a white T-shirt and his best pair of jean overalls, he was fairly sure that he was likely running headlong into something life-treatening. His old man would have his head if he found out-- his mother would have his rear end, were she still as deadly with a paddle as she had been 10 years prior. But what his parent didn't know wouldn't hurt them! He had always wondered what sorts of crazy things non-farm-folk got up to when they weren't doing city things, like holding city meetings, or eating city food. Seemed like he was about to find out!
Yes, his foolhearty curiousity had gotten the better of him indeed; And as he stumbled closer and closer toward the central point of the commotion, he could hear voices-- shouts, really-- and a plea. It was all hard to make out, in truth, and while Lars wasn't entirely sure what was going on, he did know he could make out what smelled like blood.
Freshly-drawn blood, even.
"Well. That's... probably not great?" The redhead mumbled to himself, blue eyes glistening through the stray strands of light from the later-day sun as he got a better look at a nearby oak that the horseback riders were beginning to circle... where, at the base of it's trunk, a young man seemed to be pleading for his life... or theirs? It was hard to make out, to be sure-- but one thing was fairly clear, at least to the still-hidden Lars.
He was probably going to die if nothing was done.
"Can't have that on my conscience..." The young man muttered to himself, nodding in agreement with a very half-brained plan he'd thereafter come up with in the span of his moral conclusion. He wasn't sure if the guy was innocent, or condemned for some great big city scheme, but he knew one thing for certain-- Arrows and bows were for hunting, and hunting was what you did to animals-- not people. So, kneeling to the ground, Lars carefully placed his hands onto the forest floor-- softly, calmly stroking the rough dirt through his calloused fingers, almost as if caressing the land itself. "...Sorry, ol' girl, but would you mind helping out that fella over there? Just this once? Preeeeetty please...?"
His voice was so low, so gentle, that it was quite difficult to figure out who he was even talking to-- if anyone. Quite difficult indeed... until the land began to tremble. First a light shift. Then a rumble. The soil softened. The winds changed paths. Something was wrong-- the land itself sought to make that clear, both to the hunters and the hunted. Before long, the fantastical happened; The roots of the old tree that'd been struck with a crossbow bolt ripped clear and free from the ground, causing tremors and terrors alike as the forest itself seemed to shift under the wrath of the unnatural elements at play. The trees branches began to shift and bend; The bark writhing to free more of it's undergrowth. And as it did so, the roots-- like so many large, mighty arms, began to position themselves around the weakened man before them... almost as if poised to protect him from further harm.
Lars, meanwhile, could only watch, amazed; He figured the tree might shoo away the hunters or somesuch-- but geez, the darn thing looked like it was ready to come full to blows with them instead, on the man's behalf! Maybe it saw the crossbow bolt in him, and thought 'Wow, he's just like me, for certain!'?
Who knew trees were such kindred spirits, really?
