"I love the forest." The little voice responded, from somewhere in the underbrush.
"Then you should go find a druid." The booming cloak laughed. "You will find no love for the forest in the heart of a true Ranger. Only hate tempered by respect, little one."
"But you spend so much time in her trees, Ranger. How can you not love her bounty and her beauty?" The little voice echoed lightly through the trees, making it hard to pin down.
"Love is blind, little mouse. Love is a beautiful thing in the comfort of a home, and a terrible weakness in the dark of the trees." An arm sneaked out of the dark cloak, and rested on a tree branch. "Give in to love in the forest, and she will consume you."
"I think you have grown bitter, old Ranger. You need an apprentice, to regrow your heart." The little voice was not far now.
She was skilled, thought the Ranger. A smile cracked his lips, an expression he had not worn truly in a long time. Perhaps she was not so wrong. About needing an apprentice, at least.
He turned slowly, still holding the branch. It was covered in beautiful yellow blooms, and as he slowly moved it with him, they shook and a fine powder fell to the forest floor.
"Perhaps you need a master to harden yours, little mouse." He called out to the voice.
As he finished turning, he saw her. Standing stock still, short bow drawn aiming at his skull, a face flush with victory. He slowly brought the branch protectively between her bow and his face.
"A friend to the trees needs no master like you, Old Ranger." She smirked at him.
"The trees are no more your ally than mine, little mouse." And he blew hard on the beautiful flower, and the dust that came out was as stars that filled the young one's mind as she passed out.
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