Nessalir awoke. It was still night, and her campfire had died down to smoldering embers. She could just barely make out the shadowy form of Huunang a little way off, standing with his head lowered, lips loose as he slept. Slowly, careful not to make a sound, Nessalir sat up.

  Something had awoken her, of this she was certain. She sniffed the air, but smelled only the near-dead ashes of the fire, and the remnants of her fish dinner, and the usual scents of the woodnds. There was bark and dirt and grass and sweet berries. It was the smell of the wild, the smell of the earth.

  She frowned. She could feel no breeze that might carry those scents to her nose. And neither were there any berry bushes nearby.

  So why could she smell them so clearly?

  Standing, the drakkowar reached for her sword, now alert. Her human fingers curled around the hilt, and its weight was reassuring in her hands. She cast her gaze about her campsite, certain now that she and her horse were not alone.

  One of the trees moved.

  Nessalir narrowed her eyes at the offending pnt, frowning and wondering if she had truly seen that motion or if it was merely some trick of sight. She watched, waiting for it to move again. Her grip tightened upon her sword.

  The tree seemed to bend. It stepped forward, took on the shape of a man. How he had seemed an old oak just a moment ago, Nessalir could not say. She raised her sword as the man approached.

  He wore wooden armor, which covered him nearly completely. It looked less like it had been carved and more like it had been grown, for no one had removed the bark, and it was gnarled and knotted, with moss and lichen growing upon it. Branches grew from his helm like the spines of a crown, and his beard was so intermixed with green moss that it seemed to be moss itself. His eyes were dark and deep, and he smelled of berries.

  "Who are you?" Nessalir asked, bde at the ready. A few feet away, Huunang stirred, and shook his head.

  "Is it the purview of the intruder to demand her host's name?" asked the wild man. He drew closer, and Nessalir adjusted her footing, prepared to defend herself. "You are a hunter, and you are not welcome."

  "I was unaware that these woods had been cimed by any lord," said Nessalir. "I am but a mere traveler, passing through these nds."

  The man extended a hand, pointed at the embers of her fire. Now that he was closer, Nessalir could make out more details. He was tall—impossibly so. Perhaps eight, maybe even nine feet. His skin, she was certain now, was green. "You have fed upon meat that was not yours."

  "The fish?" asked Nessalir. "If you have a cim to the trout of that pond, then I apologize for my trespass, and will pay whatever price you demand. But only if you can prove your cim true."

  "Cim?" asked the Green Man. "Who could cim the wild? Such is the folly of your kind. I am but the guardian of these woods, and I seek the hunters who have profaned it with their cruelty, and spilled the blood of the Heart Beasts."

  "The only blood I have spilled in these nds is that trout's," said Nessalir.

  "You pointed your weapon at a Heart Beast earlier this day. I watched you do it."

  Nessalir faltered. "You mean the unicorn?" she asked. "I did not kill it."

  The Green Man watched her carefully. "No," he agreed. "You did not." He turned, and began to make his way back into the woods. "Leave this nd, hunter. Your kind is ill-suited to these wilds. I must hunt for these poachers, and I do not wish to be distracted by your presence."

  "Distracted?" Nessalir asked, and she felt her lips curl into a smile. "And how might I be a distraction, oh guardian of these woods?"

  He paused at the forest's edge, and turned to face her once more. "Your scent," he told her. "You smell of ancient blood, and wild might."

  "I am drakkowar," Nessalir told him. "In me flows the blood of dragons. I am known as Nessalir. What name do you go by, stranger?"

  "Names are a mortal convention," replied the Green Man. "I simply am, as the woods are, as the beasts are."

  Nessalir nodded. "And you say that there is someone hunting unicorns in these woods?"

  The Green Man's eyes bzed with anger. "Do you wish to seek them out?" he demanded. "Join in their company, perhaps?"

  The image of the unicorn was fresh in her mind. It was a beautiful creature, pure and majestic. And when it had looked at her, it had seemed so intelligent, so wise. Nessalir thought of what sort of man might look upon a creature like that and choose to spill its blood. What sort of man would hunt such a beast?

  She did not know, but the thought of it made her blood boil. It was a trespass against nature, against the world itself. It was an insult, and the thought sickened her.

  "No," she told the Green Man. "I wish to hunt these hunters as well."

  The woodnds' guardian stared at her in silence for a moment. "Do you mock me, mortal?" he growled. "This is no task for you."

  "I merely wish to offer my assistance," said Nessalir. "I cannot abide the idea of such men going unpunished."

  "You think me not up to the task?"

  "Not at all. Do you believe I cannot hold my own?"

  "You are mortal," said the Green Man. "You would break—easily."

  Nessalir ughed. "I assure you, I would not. Do you wish to test my strength for yourself, guardian?"

  The Green Man's gre turned to a grin, and he ughed as well. "Very well, mortal," he said. "Let us see if your confidence is founded."

  And without another word, he leapt at her.