[The Barrow-Wight]

Singéd plodded sullenly behind his master, wondering if the Grundorian really had a clue where he was going. They seemed to be headed in the general direction that the unkempt tree-man had gone, and Ohtoo did have a map, but the tiny morosa wasn’t entirely certain that the Proctor’s son had a clue how to read it. It had not escaped his notice that the map had been upside down when Ohtoo had made his decision which way to go.

So far, their chosen path seemed to be the correct one. They were trudging along a well-worn trail showing the telltale signs of a heavy creature trailing long, twisted roots. Bits of rotten bark and clumps of slimy, shriveled leaves, as well as pointy black needles that stuck into his hooves, littered the trail. What kind of tree is this guy?, thought Singéd. He sniffed at a pool of thick black liquid and jerked his muzzle back in disgust. Ent Sap! Disgusting!

Slowly the trail began to rise as the land climbed upon the shoulders of the great mountain Methadrone. Suddenly they crested a hill, and looked into a narrow valley where they could see a cold stream splashing down from its springs high above. On the right of the water was a long slope, clad with Astroturf. No trees grew there and it was open to the stars above that sparkled like a disco ball. The uber-pony did a tiny Hustle to catch up to his master who was rushing across the plastic meadow.

Before them, at the end of the field, two great trees stood like gateposts, one on either side, and between them stood the frizzled Ent Skinflint, feet planted in the freezing stream. An unhealthy, oily sheen began where his woody husk touched the water, and several dead fish bobbed mournfully nearby. His back was turned to them, and he held his head forward as if leaning into an unseen wind, so he did not notice their approach until the Grundorian was nearly upon him.

With a loud neigh of dismay (or was it “Nay!”?), Singéd watched Ohtoo draw his sword and swing it in a vicious arc with the unmistakable intention of removing the Ent of one or more appendages. The tempered blade slashed downward murderously, but an unintended splash of Ohtoo’s blue sueded foot alerted the tree-dude, and with unexpected dexterity Skinflint sprang forward so that the Grundorian’s sword only removed a large patch of dandruffy moss. The Ent shuffled around to defend himself, bringing a gnarled branch up to block the quickly falling second swing of the enraged warrior attacking him, but this time he was not so lucky. With a bright red flash the sword struck deep into the shielding arm, cleaving in, through, and beyond it to thunk solidly into the heartwood of the scurvy tree. Arterial sap sprayed from the wound, covering the man and making the ground a sticky mess.

Singéd watched again as his master pressed the attack and the wounded Ent retreated. Never before had he seen Ohtoo so incensed, and it was actually quite entertaining to watch. Skinflint had been arrogant in the clearing when he had had the advantage, but now he was clearly unprepared to deal with the savage attack he was facing. Instead of aiding him, the surrounding trees were drooping like marionettes controlled by a sleeping puppeteer. The Ent shrieked a quick ‘Meep!’, but his cry was cut short as his attacker swung again, cleaving away a prominent knot. At last the tree-fella gathered his breath to exclaim, “I yield!”

Like a torch dropped into a brimming chamber pot, Ohtoo’s anger was doused, and he came to his senses.

“Errr….” breathed the dreadfully wounded Skinflint. “Mmmmm…. Yes….. I yield,” he repeated, panting like a whipped dog on a summer day.

“Ya betcha, ya yield!” said the sap covered Grundorian, threatening the cowering tree-thing with his blackened sword. He grabbed the crystal around his neck and aimed a concentrated beam of thought at Skinflint. “This blasted thing only works at close range lately, but if I got any closer I’d be in back of ya, so you’d better fess up with me wallet right now or I’m gonna go Scanner on yo hiney!”

Singéd gasped. Never before had he heard his master use the guttural dialect of the Hygienists. Such crudity was far below him, but it was apparent that the rumors of his dallying among Minus Teeth’s seedier dental technicians were true. To threaten a skull-bursting Scanner attack was the most frightening thing Ohtoo could have done, and the frazzled and sapping Ent unhesitatingly produced the aforementioned wallet from some hidden crevice. I wonder where that’s been, thought the petite pony with an inner grimace.

He watched Ohtoo snatch the wallet from Skinflint, check its contents to ensure it was really his, and then do something unexpected. Orogarn Two jumped onto Singéd’s back and kicked him soundly, shouting “Away!”

Completely startled, the teensy horsie bucked violently and nearly tossed his master into the flowing stream, but the Grundorian managed to stay on his mount, and soon they were racing back they way they had come. The moaning Ent retreated, shrunken in defeat, backing into a dark hole in the hillside.

“Errrr…..nnnnn….” he sighed as he squeezed himself into a good hiding place. Through a break in the trees he watched the nasty Man ride away on his large dog and wished he had never been planted.