Roots of Desire

  Chapter 1: The Encounter

  The forest was alive, as it always was. Woodward Oakenheart stood motionless in its heart, rooted in the earth like a towering sentinel. His skin, bark-covered and weathered by time, blended seamlessly with the towering trees around him. The breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and moss. He breathed deeply, feeling the rhythm of the land in his wooden core; the pulse of the trees, the shift of the seasons, the quiet hum of nature’s workings. He had always been one with the forest, its guardian and protector, but today something felt… different. There was a disturbance in the air, a foreign presence.

  A human woman.

  The forest around him grew still, every fiber in Woodward’s massive form tensing. He could feel her long before he saw her; her delicate footsteps breaking the silence of the woods. A trespasser. She had ventured deeper into the forest than she should have. Deep into his Grove, almost into the sacred space. His duty as a guardian flared up instinctively, a deep-rooted need to protect what was his. From the corner of his eye, he saw her; small human woman , moving through the underbrush with her eyes focused on the task at hand. She was gathering wood, her hands expertly collecting branches and logs as though it was any other part of the forest.

  But it wasn’t.

  The clearing ahead was sacred, a place protected by the magic of his kind, of the Druids. No human should be here. Oaken’s thoughts were calm, but his fibers tensed. He had to stop her. He had no choice. He couldn’t allow this intrusion. He moved. His massive roots groaned beneath him as he took a step forward, the earth shifting under his weight. The ground trembled with the force of his movements, and the trees seemed to bow in response to his presence. His towering form was all but invisible in the shadows, but when he stepped forward, there was no mistaking the massive Treant that appeared in the clearing. He made no sound, but his presence was undeniable.

  His deep voice rumbled through the trees, like thunder rolling across a distant sky. “Leave. This is no place for you.”

  The woman froze. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. Her chest heaved with every breath, but she didn’t move. Fear spread across her face, and for a moment, Woodrow wondered if she would scream. Instead, she looked at him, confusion and awe in her vibrant green eyes. She didn’t understand. But he couldn’t let her stay. “Go,” he commanded again, his voice stronger this time. “Now.”

  Her eyes darted around, frantic, as though looking for an escape. She took a step back, then another, her hands shaking as they grasped at the branches she had gathered. But before she could turn to flee, the fear overtook her. Her eyes locked on his towering form, and with a sudden gasp, she bolted. She ran, her steps wild and uncoordinated, as though the very sight of him had driven her to panic.

  Woodward watched her, unmoving at first. It was rare for him to feel anything for the humans who dared to trespass in his domain. He was a guardian, a protector of the forest, and humans had no place here. Yet something about her flight stirred something deep within him. A primal need he was unfamiliar with.

  She stumbled, her feet catching on an exposed root. In an instant, she lost her balance and crashed into the creek. The sound of water splashing violently echoed in the silence of the forest.

  Woodward’s wooden core skipped a beat. He could feel the impact of her fall in the pit of his roots. She had fallen unconscious. He stepped forward, slowly, carefully, feeling a strange urge to help. His legs moved despite his instincts to keep his distance. He knelt beside the creek, his wooden limbs creaking under the weight of the decision. The woman was lying in the water, her body limp, her breath shallow. He could feel the pulse of the forest around him, urging him to act. The land was his responsibility, but she was… vulnerable.

  Without thinking, he shifted. His towering Treant form shrank, his limbs reshaping into a more half humanoid version of his Treant form, still made of wood but less intimidating. His body was still powerful, but now he looked less like a tree and more like a being of the forest. He stepped into the creek and gently cradled her, lifting her from the water with surprising care.

  Her skin was cold, wet from the creek, but there was a faint warmth still radiating from her. Her body was small against his, fragile. He could feel her heartbeat, faint but steady, and for the first time in his long existence, he felt the tug of something unfamiliar. He could leave her here, let the forest take care of her. But something held him back. He couldn’t bring himself to abandon her. The human woman had no place here, but he couldn’t let her die in the forest either. He glanced down at her once more, a fleeting moment of doubt crossing his mind. She was beautiful in her fragility, her features soft in unconsciousness, her lips parted as she breathed in shallow, even rhythms.

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  With a silent sigh, he made his decision.

  Woodward shifted again, his form becoming more defined as he assumed his full humanoid shape, though his wooden skin and sharp features still marked him as something far from human. The weight of her was nothing to him, but the responsibility of what he was about to do felt heavy. He turned and began moving through the forest, his steps slow but deliberate. He knew the way to the town; he had traveled it before. He kept to the shadows, moving stealthily. The forest whispered its disapproval, but Woodward didn’t listen. He wasn’t concerned with what the land thought right now.

  For some reason, he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. As he walked, his mind raced with questions he didn’t want to answer. Why had he reacted this way? Why did he care? She was nothing to him. Just a human. But something about her stirred something in him, something deeper than the roots of the forest.

  He had no answers.

  As the Moon rose, he stepped beyond the forest’s edge. The air felt different here; thicker, heavy with the scent of coal smoke and iron. The town was quiet at this hour, the streets bathed in the pale glow of moonlight. He moved swiftly, his steps near-silent despite his size, blending into the shadows as though the night itself willed his presence unseen. He didn’t know why he couldn’t leave her behind. This human, fragile and fleeting, meant nothing to him. Yet as he cradled her unconscious form against his chest, his instincts; rooted as deep as the earth itself; compelled him forward. Expanding his Druidic senses, he reached for the pulse of the land beneath the town. It spoke in whispers; faint traces of life woven together. And among them, one thread called to him. Hers.

  This is where she belongs.

  The path became clear, as if the earth itself guided his steps. He approached a modest dwelling tucked on one side of town. The scent of iron lingered faintly; worked metal, a forge not far from the door. This was her home. He was certain of it. The door, worn but sturdy, gave way easily beneath his touch. Inside, the air was warm; faintly sweet, tinged with woodsmoke. He moved through the quiet space, careful not to disturb the sleeping household, and found her room with ease.

  The bed was small, tucked beneath a low window that let in a silver sliver of moonlight. With deliberate care, he knelt and laid her down, his hands gentler than they had any right to be. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, and in the stillness, he could hear the soft tremor of her breath; fragile, but steady.

  For a moment, he lingered. His gaze traced the curve of her cheek, the slight furrow in her brow even in sleep. Why does she feel different? The question tugged at something deep within, something old and forgotten. But there would be no answers tonight.

  As he turned to leave, a soft sound broke the silence; a breath, shallow and uneven. Woodward froze, his senses sharpening. She stirred, her eyelashes fluttering against pale cheeks. He should go. Every instinct told him to retreat into the night and let her fade back into the world she belonged to. And yet, his roots held him there.

  A faint murmur slipped from her lips; indistinct, fragile. She was waking.

  Woodward stepped back, merging with the shadows pooling in the corners of the room. His body shifted instinctively, drawing on the magic of the forest to obscure his presence. To her eyes, he would be nothing more than a ghost in the dark.

  Her breath hitched as her eyes cracked open; green, like the moss-covered stones of the ancient Grove. Confusion clouded them as she struggled to focus. The air thickened between them, charged with something he could not name. “Where…?” Her voice was a whisper, rough from the cold creek water. She shifted, her hand brushing against the wool blanket he had draped over her.

  For a heartbeat, he allowed himself to watch. She was softer like this; vulnerable in a way that unsettled him. He should not care. Not for a human. But he had carried her from the wilds instead of leaving her to the fate she earned by trespassing. And now he stood there, rooted, unwilling to leave. She turned her head, her brow furrowed as her gaze swept the room; and stopped. For an impossible moment, their eyes met. Woodward knew she could not see him fully; not while the shadows wrapped him in their embrace. But there was an awareness in her stare, an instinctive knowing. She could feel him.

  A tremor passed through her lips. “Who… who are you?”

  The question hung between them, heavy with something unspoken. He could give no answer; none that would make sense to her world. He should turn away, slip back into the forest where he belonged.

  But instead, he lingered.

  A branch tapped softly against the window, stirred by a breeze only he could hear. The forest was calling him home, pulling at the edges of his control. He let out a breath, barely a sound. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as roots breaking through the earth.

  Her lashes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. The magic threaded through his words; a gentle push, nothing more. Enough to ease her back into slumber. Her body relaxed against the bed, tension melting from her limbs as her breath slowed. Only then did Woodward step back, the weight of his decision curling through his chest. He should never have gotten involved.

  And yet, as he slipped out into the night, his mind remained tangled in the memory of her gaze.

  She had felt him.