Sketch, Pen, 31 March 2015
"What brings you to my garden?" the mass of trees and branches asked. The voice was harsh, cutting, and omnipresent like the rattle of wind through pine needles.
He held his spear firmly at his side. "Curiosity, I suppose."
The trunks groaned as the latticework of spindled limbs lurched forward, and the barken facade of a wolf's head lowered from the canopy, staring down at the cloaked figure. Lichen, moss, and ivy hung off its gnarled skin, dripping sap and losing leaves and petals to the breeze. Along the roots of the tree trunks that formed the wooden giants legs and paws, luminescent mushrooms sprouted and feeling vines burrowed into the earth. Its empty eyes met those of the man, and its brambled mouth opened. "Mere curiosity does not bring your kind to these places."
"Would it make a difference if I said why?"
Fireflies danced in and out of the seams in its body, and birds returned to its maze of boughs to nest for the night. The wooden wolf swayed to and fro, shaking its head. "No." It stretched its legs straight, rising high up to join the rest of the trees, blocking out the meager sliver of moonlight breaking through the ceiling of leaves. "Leave, and do not speak of this place," it said as it turned and walked away. The crashing of legs shook the ground and rattled the trees, and the man could see the mottled brown shapes of elk following after the colossus from afar in the woods. "There is nothing for you here."
Not long after, the man departed in the direction he came, and all the way to the edge of the forest he was followed by the watching eyes of the rabbits, birds, and deer, and the digging roots of trees and bracken.