βStrike us down,
Weβre full of wilt,
Take our branches,
No ounce of guilt,
Axe over shoulder,
Swing quick to kill,
This torture,
Most would will,β
The witch of the Deep Dark Dangerous swung her rusted blade into the trunk of another tree. With rapt intention, another fell, while she sung her little melody.
βFor my table,
Rich and strong,
Mighty oak,
Would do no wrong,
Patience like,
A small wood ant,
Eating away,
At every chance,β
But then there was something quite wrong, amidst the great forest of Deep Dark Dangerous. She paused in her tracks hearing a noise so strange, even so to describe to us.
But it was so faint, she hardly cared. So she lifted her axe once more, putting another tree to the ground, if she dared.
βLift and strike,
Yes, lift and strike,
Cut and drop,
Must do it right,
Hear the crack,
See the fall,
Hit the bark,
Ignore the call,
Pretend it didnβt
Exist at all.β
Oh, but it very much did exist, and it was far more persistent this time. A strong wind blew the axe from her grasp, a protest to her crime.
The ugly, skinny witch shrieked in terror. Trees suddnely looked as though they were crowding around her.
Slowly snaking their roots closer to her feet. The sound of bark stretching and molding nearly causing her ears to bleed.
She threw her palms to the sides of her head. But it didnβt aid in protecting her hearing at all, for it gave the trees the advantage, instead.
She shrieked once more, as she felt something corse and rough wrap around her legs, pulling her down. Desperately, she cried for help and sunk her nails into the muddy ground.
The roots pulled her across a pool of crimson blood. The blood from the trees sheβd carelessly chopped down, brothers and sisters of loved ones.
The blood leaked from their trunks and stained her tangled hair red. The foolish hag wished this morning sheβd stayed in her bed.
Years of her life sheβd spent, downing every ounce of bark she could. Everything she owned was made of it β was made of wood.
βLet me live, I beg you, please!β
A scratchy voice answered. βWe warned you what would happen if you kept killing trees.β
βWhat warning?β She wailed. βI have received none!β
βYou just werenβt listening, the vile being you are. We gave you plenty β more than one.β
βPlease spare me, for my actions were folly. I was oblivious that you _could _speak! I did not know trees had a language, Iβm sorry.β
No such use. She should have said nothing, because pleading made matters worse, and her apology was but a ruse, a ploy that the trees caught on to.
There would be no more chances, no more of the witches plagued existence. She is the reason beautiful trees now rot, a curse that would never be forgotton, nothing could save them β no kind of useless resistence.
Now I shanβt say what happened next. Some wouldnβt be able to handle it.
But it went something like this:
The trees now sang a new version of the witches heartless song. A terrifying reason to never kill trees, a barbaric hymn very wrong.
βStrike her down,
Sheβs full of wilt,
Take one life,
No ounce of guilt,
Her torture,
The forests will,
For the dirt,
Rich and strong,
Bloody vengeance,
Would do no wrong,
Crumbling like,
A small wood ant,
Crying for forgiveness,
At every chance,
Lift and strike,
Yes, lift and strike,
Cut and drop,
Must do it right,
Hear the crack,
Watch her crawl,
Not too far, though,
Lest we make sure she
Ever existed at all.β
The witch of Deep Dark Dangerous died that day. Her useless body feeding the earth, giving it sour taste.
Not the type of taste that would care for the wood. Rather, a last curse she uttered with her very final words in a tongue only she understood.
A curse to ensure she lived on in some way. Something to forever haunt nature, and make all who lived afraid.
βRot.
In case the trees or anyone ever forgot.
She might have lived for moments more. But she poisoned her own body, dying self knowing full well what it had in store.
Her very bones infected the soil. So her soul could torment the woods and turn their bark something far from normal.
