The metal forest grew slowly. They hardly realized it was happening. First it was wood, like the oak trees. Then it was brick, like the clay beneath their feet. Now, it stands tall and mighty all around them: concrete, gray, and threatening. Every day, the noises of destruction grow closer. Trees are felled from all sides, animals flee from their homes to search out a quieter habitat. But they remain. They who are within the iron bars.

The iron fence, though rusted and in ill-repair, surrounds the forest for miles. No one is really sure who put it there or when it happened. Surely it didn't grow overnight, and yet any inhabitant of the forest could attest that it had been there for as long as they could remember.

In fairness, magical creatures don't really care for memories in the way that mortals do. Years are like moments to the immortal, and those who have never known death do not fear it. They used to snatch the squalling human children from their cribs and replace them with better, milder creatures. More perfect. Themselves. Then the human children would cry and cry, and eventually, mercifully, a Kelpie would take them into the deep.

Humans have not touched this wood in centuries. The oldest creatures reside in the middle of the forest, far from the edges of the wall. The younger – the more adventurous – have stared from the depths for hours, wondering what was on the other side. But the iron binds them, and so they stay.

In seven days, all of this will change. The manor house on the hill was sold months ago, and is due to be turned into a hotel. The grounds will soon be cleared for a golf course, and the iron fence will come down.

The humans are coming.

When the world was night she seldom had anyone to talk to. All the creatures of the forest slept and she felt in those first moments of darkness the ache of two hundred years of loneliness with no mother to keep her warm beneath her wing. When she wailed in the night the forest echoed with her sadness; and when the dawn broke she rediscovered the taste of life. Birds began to wake around her in the cool blue air of morning. She chittered back to them, calling out for a friend. Sound swelled around her as the trees exploded with life and sound, and her small voice was lost in the chaos of newness. It was a foreign thing to her now, and long had been, but in those first moments of every dawning day she lost herself in the exhilaration of time.

For so long Cabbage had been a bystander. There were few who heard her anymore, or if they did they didn't acknowledge her. Her friends were the birds and sprites, and sometimes she talked to the trees as well, the old ones, who knew the ways of the world and were no longer so caught up in the hunger for growing they took the time to creak and groan in response to her chittering. She didn't talk to the Troop anymore, not since years ago. It had taken her a long time to decide that she shouldn't, and even now she sometimes didn't understand, but their presence made her feel cold and sick in her stomach, so she preferred to avoid them. Yet every night she returned to the elder tree above the mound; it felt like home somehow. During the day she stayed away, keeping to the edges of the forest. She had watched as the fence went up, aware that it was happening slowly and yet still failing to notice it until it circled all around. Every day she followed it around; it gave her something to do. She patrolled the ring of iron, ghosting close to the bars, as close as she dared, before gliding away again. The iron reminded her of the chill of winter, and the closer to it she came the more intense the sensation became, starting in the tips of her fingers and toes, biting at her essence until she felt numb.

Cabbage stopped. She saw it, all at once, as though it hadn't been there days or hours or moments before. A square of white, hovering on the other side of the iron bars. And along the ground, lines and dots in a rainbow array of orange and red and yellow. They littered the ground like war paints, dancing around the ground outside in big, looping circles or hard, straight corners, some coming up so close to the metal partition they skirted underneath like shy birds before darting off again. They led her eyes beyond, to the world outside. The large house that sat on the wide green meadow, and the gray world even farther beyond.

It was rare that Cabbage had moments of clarity. In her two hundred long years of existence she had spent so much time running away from her past, pretending she was alive and that life had not moved on without her. The world outside reminded her that the trees no longer stretched on forever. The shapes of tall structures, bigger than teepees or wooden cabins, rose above the tree line. The horizon was misty, the ground leveled and flat and controlled, no longer a wild thing. All of these things were strange to her, modern, clearly indicative of the passage of time and all of the living she had missed. But none of these things spoke more clearly to her of change than the great, hulking metal bear that sat on the other side of the fence in the midst of all the foreign colored lines. "Bear" was the closest thing she could think of to describe it, but it was much bigger than that. Its hard, shiny hide was the color of sunlight, and its long, curving neck ended in a large, scooping mouth with flat, rounded teeth. It couldn't be a bear, it had to be something else.

The big thing made her feel cold and Cabbage faded back into the trees. She made her way back to the elder tree, flittering in between the shadows. The shivery sound of her low wail followed close behind her, a chilling reminder of her presence. There was something new happening outside of the forest, but as Cabbage hovered above the place where she had died she forgot all about it.

(OOC: said that she didn't get a ping, so I'm going to ping the group one more time to be certain. here is the IC thread!)

“Right. Could you maybe say that again? Slower, and without the details about your dinner menu? Feeling a little queasy, here.”

They met at the usual spot: a moss-covered rock in a clearing on the outskirts of the forest. The iron fence was clearly visible, and its presence felt, niggling at the edge of Rowan's consciousness. Ravens were so vain, for scavengers. Not picky eaters, by any means, but they were very full of themselves. Sometimes, he wondered why he even bothered talking to birds at all.

The young raven in front of him had dried blood crusted to his beak. He ruffled his feathers importantly and preened, knowing full well that he was in control of this situation. He clicked his beak a few times, muttering something that sounded to Rowan like some feathery curse words regarding faeries and their unrefined tastes.

“I don't have all day.” Rowan crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Truthfully, the day hadn't started yet for most of the forest. Dawn barely peaked through the canopy of leaves above them, casting her warm light over the dew-covered ground. Rowan had actually woken this particular bird from his slumber, and he didn't seem very pleased. He did, however, raise his head and meet Rowan's eyes, letting out a short stream of rough chirps and clicks.

Something stirred in Rowan's stomach that had nothing to do with the bird's gory details about his dinner the night before. Something between fear and anticipation. “You're sure?”

The raven squawked an affirmative and flexed his talons, digging them into the moss.

“Then I should really be on my way,” he said. “Thank you for your help, friend.”

He gave the creature an affectionate stroke (which it didn't seem to enjoy), and straightened up. The raven was gone in a flurry of black feathers, and all at once, Rowan was alone in the clearing.

Humans investigating the border. Strange markings, unnatural colors. A change in the air.

This did not bode well. He jumped from the boulder, landing with a soft crunch of leaves under his mouse-hide boots. It was time for border patrol, and he needed to be speedy about it. Something was definitely not right in the forest, and he intended to find out just what it was. After all, it was his job.

He reached the fence in next to no time, sure-footed in the underbrush. As usual, he felt the iron pressing against his very existence. It was cold and vaguely nauseating, so he kept his distance. Still, even from there, he could see what the raven had reported. There really were markings on the ground. Some on the trees themselves. The smell was unbelievably strong, and he covered his mouth to ward off the fumes.

Rowan looked past the fence, to the manor house on the hill. There were many of the humans' strange transportation machines (the birds told him they were called 'automobiles') scattered around the house. He'd seen a few before, of course, but never this many at once. His mind raced with possibilities, but he forced himself to take one step at a time. This was just one section of fence. He had to see if it was the same all over. He had to know what this might mean.

So, as morning awoke, he began to follow the fence upon his usual path, his pulse a little quicker and his eyes a little brighter.

Something stank. Not just smelt off, really stank. It was bitter and acrid. It clung to the inside of his nostrils and he shuddered at the thought of trying to hunt that day. But of course he had to; it was the third day, the day of hunting and of sleeping, instead of one of the many monotonous days that revolved around alternately running to stretch his poor limbs and sleeping far more than a wolf should. The idea of opening his mouth and letting the foul stench into his glands horrified him, however, and his dark brown, canine nose wrinkled in distaste. How could any of the other forest creatures stand it? A dark-furred ear stood up sharply, trying to ascertain how close any other creatures were to him. None close enough to be hurt, he decided, and slowly stood.

It was only then that Odolf opened his bright yellow eyes. He felt the muscles in his limbs stretch out as he stood, with more effort than he knew it should take. Still, he couldn't see the point in keeping himself in very good shape when he, firstly, was trying to avoid harming anyone else during his painfully long existence and, secondly, had no further purpose in his so-called life. He resented the position he was now in, wandering the same tiny forest with no vigor and no ambition, nor need for it; worse, even, than the life he'd had in his tribe, killing the men who'd hated him for the path he'd been forced into. He'd often wondered whether he would have died centuries ago after a relatively peaceful and stress-free life had he lived in another tribe or abandoned his bonekin when he'd been asked into this role. Everytime, however, he decided there was no point speculating; if there were other worlds with other Odolfs who had taken those paths, they were not him and he couldn't change his past, only deal with his future.

A wail broke his thoughts; ear splitting and painful, had he a heart the scream could have broken it. There was something intrinsic in all animals, he thought absently, that abhorred the sight and sound of suffering children. This, he knew, was no ordinary child. The sound came from a few hundred spear-lengths away from him - indeed he still used the old measurements of his tribe, though he had picked up other languages as he'd aged - and he knew the owner would know be nestled into an old tree that served as her home. Odolf had spent a lot of time watching and listening to the goings on, and had seen the horror the faeries at the mound had committed. The wail came from the child they'd stolen and killed, now a banshee. He was, by now, used to the sound, though something felt off about it today. Something to do with the stink that still invaded his senses, refusing to leave him alone.

Hunting would have to wait. Odolf considered shifting, knowing his human senses would be dulled. A nagging feeling wouldn't let him, though, and he shook his tail in aggravation; why wouldn't that smell dissipate? He began to move, one slow step after another, nose to the ground and body sunk down on his haunches. It was slow going this way, but it seemed necessary. He could smell nothing but the perplexing bitterness that he now realised resembled the iron tang of blood, and he needed to rely on his hearing instead of tasting the air. It irked him slightly, but he supposed it was a break in the monotony.

When the skin-walker neared the fence that prevented his escape - from the forest or his life, he wasn't sure - he began to choke and was forced to close his mouth to limit the access to his scent glands. Even his eyes watered slightly. From his position at the fence, he could see a canary-coloured creature, flank as hard as the ground or harder, and he slowly worked out in his head it was another of the humans' transportation creatures. His tribes had had nothing like that; it was the pale skins that began that trend, and his wolf-body resented that too. The copper-skinned of them went by food, and Odolf had stuck to that. Those transport-creatures were bad news. And this one, he saw, was tearing at the ground with its enormous claw as though it had buried its food to return to later, but Odolf knew they didn't eat. He could see a human sat in the beast, but it was going nowhere. Strange. Stranger, he considered, how he felt so alien from his species; could he be considered at all human anymore? Another thing the he'd given to his tribe, his humanity. His identity.

Odolf paced along the edge of the fence. He almost couldn't bear to take his eyes off the vicious, ground-eating beast, and with no means to scent, his paw came to a fly's length from an obstacle. The face of a faerie, in fact. He drew it back sharply and instinctively dropped into a protective crouch, hackles raised. Ready to spring. Saliva began to coat his teeth, now exposed, and a growl slipped, unintentionally, from his throat. He vaguely recognised Rowan Twigreader, but the rational, thinking part of his mind was trapped behind that of the wolf, protective and shift to act.

(Rowan) ((I got both pings that time, so hopefully it's working :) ))

Tsirisis knew all too keenly the sting of industrialization. Even before the damned fence had gone up he could feel his powers waning. Humans once feared and respected him and the dangers in the forest; now they shrugged off, plowed it under, poisoned the woods. Beasts that once terrorized the humans in their small camps fled before the metal claws and teeth and the choking smoke. It had gotten far worse when the fence surrounded and enclosed him. Loathe to leave the forest's dark heart by day, and with many of his own spies having a nocturnal preference, Tsirisis did not realize, as he lazed about unconcerned on the branches of ancient trees, that he would soon be caged. Word passed to the the center slowly; by the time he heard any troubling whispers, it was far too late. Ambling out from his home at nightfall, the bats and insects and serpents whispered to him at his demand. The first messenger he had ripped apart in distaste, refusing to believe. His anger flared when he saw it was true; Tsirisis flung himself the the fence and burned his claws on the slim metal links in his rage. The compulsion to shy away and the acrid tang it left in his throat were overpowering, rattling his senses so he could not even join with the night and twist through the holes like smoke. He could hear the sound of heartbeats, so steady and unafraid, just beyond his reach. The longer he paced at the edges, testing the fence, the greater the gnawing hunger became. Nights went by and he was forced to go without feeding until he became delirious and viciously chewed and ripped at the links until his mouth and talons were scarred. Burns crisscrossed his body. He ordered his beasts to travel beyond the fence to collect fear to feed him, but more and more often they refused or did not return. Finally, one night when the cold, blind eye of the sky shone down on the world in full, Tsirisis looked upon himself in a pool of water. At first he had hissed and leapt back; trust no one! his mind had screamed. But as he cautiously approached, he realized his foolishness. The stick-thin figure in the water was...himself. That jolted him out of his madness. For the first time in many months he took a good look at himself, observing bony claws and hollowed face, broken spines and the limp snakes in his mane. Though his meals were typically not physical in nature, his outward form reflected his inner condition. Tsirisis realized he was...dying. Such a strange thing to contemplate for a beast supposed to be ageless, deathless. He had not found his place yet; the thought of being swallowed up into oblivion terrified him. With his power over the beasts of night failing, he had few options, and dying certainly was not one of them. He did the only thing he could do. Tsirisis found a nice spot of moss that he was fond of sleeping on during the day, shaded from the sun, and allowed himself to be cradled by the darkness.

Something was happening, he was sure of it. Something that could change his fortune. Tsirisis crawled from the black spaces beyond, loathe to leave the comfort of the darkness, but unwilling and unable to terminate his connection to the physical world. Limbs that had lain dormant for who knows how long refused to move in the ways he wanted them to; he had gone so long as a formless entity that existence was strange. Senses returned with obnoxious clarity and he winced, panicking when he felt a heavy weight on his back. He clumsily rolled about, tangling himself in the tree roots that had grown over him. He growled and slashed at them, breaking himself free with a crack. Now able to stand, he shook himself and sent all manner of things flying into the surroundings; insect, rocks, twigs, mud. He itched abominably and when he took a step, beetles and centipedes, among other things, dropped from his body. Tsirisis brushed them away in annoyance. It was daytime, but the thick canopy protected him from the sun. He needed to know what had awoken him from his sleep, what had been so urgent. Even if he had woken in the middle of a plain at midday he would have gone to investigate. He scented the air and rumbled. Familiar and unpleasant. Somewhere in the distance a man-made creature sat and growled. After taking a moment to orient himself, he stalked off towards the border between fey and man.

The peaceful quiet of the forest made it easy to sleep. The fear of being hunted was as quiet as the sleeping trees. For a doe it was a rare luxury, one that the White Doe took easy advantage of. But that morning something disturbed the peace. Even so deep in the forest, where the White Doe slept in her hidden den in the thicket, the news of the man-creatures had reached. The White Doe emerged cautiously from her home, her eyes fixed on the tree branches above and her ears pricked towards the chittering swallows that perched in them. What was this yellow beast they spoke of? She wondered idly. Another of man's pointless creations? Their gossip was not concerning to her. Man's actions had nothing to do with her. She preferred to keep it that way. The Doe turned to leave the birds to their gossip and go about her business. But as she stepped away on silent toes something they said caught her attention. "Men have come to the wall." Man? At the wall? It took all her focus to understand what that meant. What wall? Some distant memory was fleeting on the edge of her mind, something she couldn't quite grasp. She should know what they meant, but she couldn't quite recall this wall. It was time she ventured outside of her safety zone. It was time she went to see what the fuss was about. Too long had she lain idle in the safety of heart of the forest. But this time she had to find out what the birds were talking about. She went cautiously. Rarely did the White Doe come to this part of the forest. She knew there were certain creatures in her forest home that she did not wish to associate with, and so she simply avoided them. But today she could not avoid them any longer. New scents invaded her security, telling her of dangers nearby. But she tread on, ignoring her instincts to retreat. Her curiosity was greater than that. Soon she reached it. The outermost edges of the forest. She followed the sounds of men and of distraught creatures all around. When she arrived, she heard too many voices to distinguish just what was going on. But there was another sound that broke through all of it. The sound of a creature unnatural. The sound of man. The Doe dared to approach evermore nearer, until she saw what all the fuss was about: The wall, and the huge creature behind it. It all came to her in that moment. She remembered the wall now, and it's erection many decades ago. She remembered how it kept the humans outside of their forest home. For the first time in many centuries the Doe felt real fear. The fear of man, and his limitless power to destroy. The sight of the mansion on the hill, of the men and their machines scattered all about it. She knew danger was coming. She knew she was no longer safe. None of them were.

The first hints of predawn came like a fresh breath to the forest. Pale, watery light filtered through the branches of the still, dark trees, radiating from an invisible sun that had yet to climb over the horizon. Things moved in the dark, stirring into wakefulness beneath the low blanket of fog that drifted over the musky loam and soft mosses of the forest floor. While the night creatures like Owl and Skunk were just settling in for rest, those who had been hunkered into burrows and dens and trees were just beginning to wake and prepare for the day ahead. Even the fish moved sluggishly in the thick mud of the modest stream that trickled through the area, tickling over the exposed roots of the great Cypress tree that rested on the worn bank beside it. They dipped and swayed in the current of the stream, as if attempting to help rouse the minnows and tadpoles resting there. Somewhere through the shady pillars of tree trunks, a jay cackled it's first machine-gun report of the morning, chiding a vixen on her way back to her kits.

The Cypress tree on the bank of the stream was an old, gnarled thing, thick at the base and tapering towards the top. It's bark was rough and gray with age, weathered by sun and rain and sun again, and a family of squirrels had made their home in an old scar of an opening halfway up the tree. It's crown though, was a glorious thing, and it twisted and forked proudly towards the pale morning sky above like the crown of a stag, green and lush with bright leaves. The morning sun crept patient fingers across the surface of the old tree, illuminating the crags and creases and knobs that covered it.

As the light touched one knob in particular, however, it began to shift. At first it was just the barest of movements, a flexing in the pattern of the bark unseen by all but the keenest of eyes. Then it flexed again though, sending a patch of pale green lichen growing across it's surface crumbling away. With a creak and a sound like a sigh, the knob separated itself from the tree, pulling away into a long, bulby face. Shoulders followed, wide and powerful, and a chest that wound itself into shape with thick, woody vines and bark. Two dark, wet eyes blinked away the glare of the morning light as long, mossy legs carried the body upwards, towards the warm touch of that nourishing light. Creaks Like Bones stretched and woke, parting his craggy muzzle and breathing thick mist into the warming air. The wind shifted and he sighed pleasantly, curling his gnarled fingers into the sun as if he could cup it and drink it. The day was fresh, and he could feel it bringing him strength. The jay who had called earlier lit on the Forest Aspect's antlers.

"The other birds are talking," she said. Jays loved to gossip, and Creaks was always willing to listen.

"The other birds are always talking," the old tree breathed.

"They speak of men," she continued, ignoring the Aspect's comment. The jay cocked her head and plucked a particularly juicy looking beetle from one of the upper tines of the tree's antlers. "They speak of walls, and of machines and change. They speak of fear." The beetle crunched satisfyingly in her beak and she swallowed it down.

The old tree considered this, but said nothing. Men and fear and change often all went hand and hand, but not all change was bad, nor were all men. He had never seen any of man's machines himself, but he had heard of them through the whispering of the trees and the gossiping of the birds. Often these machines brought destruction with them as man sought to change the world around him, for better or for worse. He also knew of the wall, though that he had gone to see himself. He remembered it's erection, long ago, just as he remember the times long before it ever was. The destruction of the wall itself did not concern him too much. The forest was vast and strange, and no doubt man would be frightened of it before long. Perhaps it would drive them away, like it had so many others before the fence.

However, it was also the way of man to destroy what he feared, and beyond that, the animals were frightened. He supposed, then, that the Jay's news bore some looking into.

With a sigh, the giant of a being shifted his roots, startling a few turtles that had been sunning on the bank of the stream below. It would be a long, slow trek to the wall, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"The others are gathering, further along," the Jay commented helpfully.

Again, Creaks Like Bones sighed, then nodded his great, shaggy head. "Show me the way then, little sister. Show me the way."

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon and the forest was just beginning to stir. It had been ages since Oakland slept thoroughly through the night and slept a dreamless sleep. Most nights he dreamt of days past and saplings now ages old, but last night he dreamt of darkness encasing his world. He saw nothing, but a vast emptiness. He took that as a sign that something bad was going to happen and there wouldn't be any time to change it.

Slowly, Oakland opened his eyes creaking as he rose to his feet stretching his limbs with loud cracks and bangs like lightning on a stormy night. He glanced about him watching as birds and chipmunks began to wake themselves dashing about for breakfast. Oakland watched them for a moment. He grumbled quietly trying to shake the dreamless sleep from his mind. There was nothing to worry about, but as the sun rose and the animals woke up there was a lot more chirping and chattering than usual. Something had to be up, but Oakland couldn't possibly imagine what. So he went about his business as usual continuously brushing off worry and fear.

Saplings gleefully woke from their sleeps chattering about all the crazy dreams they had excitement for another day apparent in their voices. Oakland couldn't help, but smile with pride at how quickly they were growing. Just a few years ago they were barely sprouting above the ground and now they were walking around talking like they'd been doing it all their lives. It was amazing and he felt so proud to know he'd been the one who'd taught them everything they knew. He entered the clearing and smiled broadly as the saplings all bounded toward him laughing and jeering with stories. "Oakland! Oakland!" one cried loudly grabbing at his leg with impatience. Oakland raised a hand slowly creaking with every movement alerting the others to be silent. "Yes, dear boy?" Oakland asked, tilting his head to the side in question. "Tell us a story! One about the saplings in the north!" he cried excitedly. Oakland smiled and nodded in compliance.

It was his favorite story as well, so he didn't mind telling it again and again. Except he was continuously stopped with questions he'd answered hundreds of times and no matter how many times he answered them, they always asked them every time he told the story. It was a bit annoying, but he gladly answered them anyway as they were still growing and enjoyed the story so much he just couldn't say no. "Forty or fifty years ago, a group of saplings grew up in a forest north of here. They were very much like you are now and every day they grew bigger and bigger. One day they got old enough to wander far and I lost them.." Oakland continued the story with plenty of interruptions, but he answered them all no matter what. They were like his children and it was his job to be good to them. He was all they had.

Half way through the story one sapling interrupted with some jarring news. He'd wandered away from the group and found the wall. He didn't know there was a wall surrounding his forest before and it was interesting. He followed it round and round until he found an opening. Outside he saw large square and metallic shapes brightly colored like autumn was painted on them. It was strange and he immediately returned to ask what it was. Oakland told the saplings to stay and marched off as quickly as he could move without breaking any branches. He was getting old and things seemed to break more often than not. Leaves left him bare and moss stripped his body of green and left him brown and barren. He liked the spring as it made him feel young.

When he arrived at the wall he quickly became aware of the glaring silence around him. Birds were usually chirping happily and other woodland creatures were wandering around, but none could be found. He slowly stepped up to the wall gazing out beyond it to the mansion just outside of it. He spotted the metal creatures the sapling had spoken of and narrowed his eyes at them cautiously. He'd only seen them once before when the wall was put up, but why were they back again? He spotted a pale creature on two legs and stepped back in surprise. A man. It'd been ages since the wall was put up and a man was around. Fear pulsed in his old body and he stumbled away from the wall. They couldn't be bringing down the wall. The humans couldn't enter the forest. They'd destroy everything like they've done for years. He'd witnessed so many forests deaths, he couldn't let this one die too. Angrily he let out a growl slamming his fists into the ground staring at the metal contraption just beyond the wall. The contraption that would bring doom to his forest.

He remained staring waiting for something to happen; waiting to stop the destruction of the wall when it began.

She woke as the sun was beginning its ascent into the sky, silently announcing the beginning of another day.

The nymph normally woke a bit later in the day than this, but something had woken her up earlier this morning. It wasn't a loud noise, nor was it the touch of another creature. It wasn't the cool brush of rainwater against her cream-colored skin, nor was it the soft caress of the wind. No, it was something else that had woken her. Something deep in the pit of her stomach, an eerie and urgent feeling that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She knew what it was; there was a disturbance in the forest of some sort. She could feel it in the chattering of the animals, the movement of the trees. Change was coming. She wasn't sure what was changing, or why, but it was enough to frighten the other inhabitants of the forest. If nothing else got her moving, the fear of other creatures did.

The first thing she noticed as she got to her feet was the smell. It was acrid and strong, like nothing she had experienced before. She made a face, covering her nose with a hand, and kept moving. Whatever it was definitely stunk. It smelled worse than anything she had smelled before; worse than the stink of a stunk, worse than dung, worse than even the fire that had burned down part of the forest when she was very young. She didn't pause to partake in her normal morning routine that consisted of washing herself in the creek, making sure that the brambles and leaves that she always found in her hair were gone. No, her routine would not be happening today. Something was wrong, and she was worried... And curious. Extremely curious about what could be bothering the creatures who had raised her. About what was causing the smell. In all the years she had been living, never had Junipe seen the forest in such a panic.

Of course if she were a century or two older, she would understand this feeling. She would remember the wall being built, trapping them inside. A little older than that and she may even have remembered seeing humans among the other creatures of the forest, passing through on their way to places beyond what she knew. She did not understand though; she was young, had been raised in decades of peace. She did not know fear, had never seen the creatures that were sometimes spoken of, but never seen in her forest home. She had never seen the monsters that humans were supposed to be.

Junipe had been raised in the heart of the forest all her life, had never really ventured beyond the thick canopy of vines, bark, leaves, and brambles that protected her and many other creatures. She had heard of the wall, great and powerful as it was rumored to be, but had never even seen it. A few times she had spoken of her curiosity about it to the older creatures of the forest, wondering if she should venture out and see what it was. They had always cautioned her against it though, and she had always listened to them. They knew what was best, she supposed; they had been living many years longer than she had, and she knew that most of them would not tell her the things they had if they were not true.

She eventually found herself surrounded by other forest creatures, most of which were chattering to each other excitedly. She tuned them out, deciding that she wanted to see for herself what all the fuss was about. And she eventually did. In front of her stood an enormous wall of... rock? It was a bit lighter than most rocks, and was larger than any she had seen before, but she didn't know what else it could be. Even more frightening was the brightly colored monster behind it. The closest thing she could relate it to was a badger or bear, but its hide was the color of sunflowers, with some dark markings on it, the color of a night sky. It was enormous, with a huge scooping claw in front, and small, blunted teeth. Its eyes were large, flat, and clear, and inside it was something else. A human, she supposed, from the chatter of the creatures surrounding her. It actually looked very much like her, only with shorter hair and strange clothing. Strange, she had always thought that humans would be ugly, monstrous creatures. How could something this small and weak be so terrifying?

The other creatures definitely seemed upset though. She could see one of the largest of the Treefolk slamming his fists into the ground angrily, other creatures whispering urgently to one another, some leaving to spread the news. Junipe pursed her lips and simply stared at the monster in front of her with wide green eyes. Whatever it was sure was causing a ruckus... Yet still she couldn't find it in her to be as frightened of the yellow monster as many of the forest creatures.

Cabbage experienced a sensation very much akin to waking up, which was of course impossible as she hadn't slept since the day she fell asleep in the snow for the last time. All the same, suddenly she was aware of herself in a way she hadn't been a moment before, as though she had forgotten everything that just happened to her. She was hovering above an unremarkable patch of ground. Looking a little further, she found an elder tree rising up from the dirt in front her. Cabbage floated up into its branches, discovering a family of robins nesting in the branches. Allowing the wind of whimsy to carry her even higher, she floated up until she had cleared the canopy of the forest around her to look about at the world below. The emerald leaves chattered and swooshed in the passing breezes like waves she had never seen crashing against a shore, light reflecting off of every slick green surface with painful intensity. The forest appeared to stretch on for infinity, but Cabbage knew how small it really was. Her forest was only a few acres, forever separated from any trees beyond by what felt like an impenetrable barrier. From up so high, Cabbage couldn't see the fence. It would be so easy to glide across the treetops, dance away across the leaves and over the iron fence, forget about the world of death and find the sea she'd heard of in stories, which was great and powerful and never ending, crashing on and on forever like the ghost of time itself. She would never be alone with the whisper of the sea in her ear. But the tug in her heart told her she could not leave, that as lost as she already was if she strayed too far she would never find her way.

Cabbage turned away from the pretense of freedom that the seemingly infinite treetops spoke of and faced the world of man. It was an abrupt change, the trees cutting off suddenly in the wake of fields. And there, in the middle of it all, was the manor house. The memory of an unnatural yellow darted through her. She peered around curiously, and for the first time noticed movement in the trees that seemed different from normal. She hadn't been listening properly, but now she heard the upset of the birds around her. Their friendly chatter was growing vulgar and uproarious. Something was displeasing them, and in the midst of the trees she could see branches parting the treetops, moving towards the manor side of the fence. The forest creatures were moving towards the fence in a great migration.

She followed, swooping across the treetops until she was hovering above the trees at the edge of the fence. There was a great gathering just inside the tree line, and many eyes peered out to watch, keeping out of sight as best they could. Cabbage felt compelled by the sense of urgency. She looked down at the fence beneath her. Her essence was shivering with the closeness of its proximity, and a dull ringing had started in her ears, but it wasn't as intense as when she approached it from the ground. She drifted a little closer and the ringing grew higher in pitch. She was almost directly above the fence now, maybe 15 feet above it. It would be such an easy thing to glide across.

The thought made her scared. She hesitated. She remembered the cold, the feeling of being alone, the rush of infinity. And then a gust of wind caught her and with a sound like a sharp pop vibrating in her ears she was across the fence. Cabbage was dumbfounded. She had never left the safety of the fence before. The shock of it left her blank for a moment, and then suddenly she felt the perfect clarity of two hundred years of knowledge and knew what she must do.

It really was stupid that she had never tried to cross the fence before. She was a ghost, it was true, and at times, she remembered with a shutter, a little lost banshee, certainly more paranormal than normal. But she was still human, first and foremost. She could go places the other Fae could not.

Quickly, before her senses left her, she flew down into the midst of men. They did not see her, though a few seemed to shiver as she passed, looking around nervously. She was looking for the man in charge. Men always had a leader. They were like bees in a way, living in hives, working together, gathering up what they could to take back to their colonies. She wondered if they even had a queen. She heard shouting and quickly glided towards the sound. The leader would be bigger than the rest, more imposing so that he could command the others, but the tall burly man she found provided her with no clues and she continued to search.

She was beginning to get desperate. If she lost herself again before she could pass back across the fence she wasn't sure what would happen. She had almost decided to give up and hurry back when she glided right through the walls of a strange little building. It was small, only one room, like a teepee, but it was rectangular in shape. There were windows looking out at the men working, and on the table a big piece of blue paper. Big things were important. Cabbage looked it over in confusion, then blew across the surface of the table, attempting to blow away the paper to see the other pieces underneath. Her breath scattered the blue sheets across the floor where she studied the drawings in confusion. She didn't understand the symbols, but she did understand the drawings.

At top speed Cabbage burst through the roof of the little gray building and careened back towards the forest. She crossed over the fence, ignoring the shrieking in her ears as she passed, then dropped down into the trees, into the midst of the creatures gathered at the border. There was a large creature before her, part animal part tree. She chirped excitedly, attempting to communicate the idea of what she'd seen. Men. Fence. No trees. No forest. No trees. No trees...

Cabbage lost herself to panic. Words escaped her. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes rolling back into her head, and a piercing scream ripped its way from her throat, resounding so loud even the ears of men thought they heard a child shriek.

So many things were moving through Rowan's mind – What was this contraption outside of the fence? Why were humans gathering at the manor house? Who could he send for information? What did this mean for the forest? – that he really wasn't paying too much attention to where he was going. So much so that he almost ran right into something huge, furry, and very, very angry.

He stopped short, his small body frozen at first in fear. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, and he could feel his muscles tensing almost painfully in preparation to run in the opposite direction. As small creatures, faeries were very used to employing fancy evasive maneuvers to avoid being eaten. The fastest survive, and all that. Still, he tried to focus on what was actually happening. It seemed very surreal. There was this snarling beast before him, although to be frank it looked almost frightened, and there were humans coming to the wall.

All around him, the forest was shifting, coming alive. Not in the usual way, however. There was a sense of panic stirring within, and Rowan was sure that the knot that was his stomach wasn't going to uncoil anytime soon.

“Friend,” he said slowly, holding up his hands as a way of submission. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I wasn't looking where I was going. Please, let us be on our--”

He stopped, mid-sentence, to raise his eyes to something over the beast's head. No. This couldn't be.

Creatures were emerging from the forest. He was sure the news was spreading quickly. The birds would have chattered to anyone who listened, as they always did. Still, he hadn't expected... These were creatures he hadn't seen in decades, but here they were, standing by the edge of the forest, watching the humans go about whatever peculiar business.

Before he had time to take any of it in, the ground beneath his feet shook so violently and so suddenly that he was thrown to the ground, scraping his hands on the underbrush. He gasped for breath and coughed, his heart thundering within his chest. He discovered the source of the small earthquake when he took notice of the tree spirit – Oakland Moss – who had struck the ground with his enormous fist. No doubt he'd left a crater of some kind.

Even the humans took notice. The great rock-like machine rattled. Humans shouted as they tried to keep their balance. He heard a cry of “Earthquake!” come from somewhere in the field between the fence and the house. Humans were so quick to jump to conclusions. If only they would look; the answers were right in front of their noses.

All at once, a chill unlike any other descended upon the group of creatures. Rowan was just getting to his feet, dusting off the pine needles and dust from his hands. Golden blood seeped from the scraped skin, but it was already closing up. He didn't feel any pain.

He looked to find Cabbage – a child of the forest, and the resident Banshee – floating in their midst. She seemed panicked, chirping in bird-language, but even that was garbled. Her state of anxiety grew and grew, and Rowan abruptly felt nauseous. He'd learned to steer well clear of this little ghost. The more panicked she got, the more her energy field expanded, and he could feel her emotions coiling around his throat and plunging into the pit of his gut.

He barely had enough time to cover his ears before the scream tore through the forest and the surrounding area. Rowan was fairly certain he screamed, too, but it was lost to the child's wail of agony.

When the last echoes had died away, the whole world seemed mute. Deaf. Maybe he was deaf – it wouldn't be unheard of with a banshee. Even his eyes had trouble focusing, and he opened his mouth to say something – anything – but his voice seemed to catch in his throat, and nothing came out. He felt chilled to his very bones, and he wondered if this is what it felt like to die. He'd heard Cabbage's cries before, but nothing like this. It had never been so raw.

Finally, he found his voice. He took a step toward the spectre. “Cabbage? What's wrong? What did you see?”

She must have seen something to set her off, and with the way she'd just dropped from the sky like that – she must have been very, very high. Maybe even higher than the birds. He just hoped she was having one of her clear moments and didn't start babbling in her hash of languages, or he'd never get anything out of her.

“Friend."

Odolf backed off, still snarling. It wasn't so much fear he felt, but apprehension; Fae were tricky creatures, making up for what they lacked in power and size by being sneaky and cunning. The fur on his neck stood on end, a great mane of aggression. The wolf's eyes narrowed, waiting, trying to make sense of what the creature was saying anyway. It was made all the more difficult as other noises filtered into his ears; the noise of stumbling forest folk and panicked voices and chattering, intrusive bird-natter. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Slowly, the words began to make sense. Rowan. A Fae. But at this moment, not one that meant him any harm. Odolf's hackles slowly lowered, very very slowly. Very hesitantly, still looking for a trick. But none came, and the faerie kept talking, clearly still worried about the wolf's aggression, even as his fur began to lie flat again.

"I wasn't looking where I was going. Please, let us be on our--”

As Rowan's voice broke off, Odolf recognised a nagging sense of unease in his own skin. More than having just nearly walked into a tricky faerie, more than the sun-bright beast on the other side of the fence. more than the humans surrounding it, there was something else he knew should worry him but that hadn't clocked yet. Rowan peered, amusingly, over Odolf's head. This caused the wolf to spin to look where the faerie was looking, and saw what he was seeing. He'd not truly acknowledged the gathering number of fae around him. Treefolk, mainly, but there were also some others. And the birds. Their voices penetrated his senses, piercing deep into his eardrums in part because of his heightened hearing and partly because their shrills were so high in pitch. And finally, he noticed the churning noises coming from the yellow beast. They sounded like a bear as it savaged its food, and in this instance the food was the ground around the fence.

One of the treefolk, clearly an angry, very strong one, was in the process of beating the ground on the other side. Odolf stared at the humans who ran, only one or two remaining, and wondered why they couldn't see the fae who gathered on the forest side of the fence. Were they blind, or had he really become so much a part of the forest that he was a stranger to his own kind and could see the fae when the humans could not? He shook his shaggy head, considering changing forms, but deciding against it. The forest folk would never trust him again, regardless of whether he could talk to the humans or not. Regardless of how many of their forms resembled the humans' as well.

One such fae caught his eye. Cabbage, the banshee girl, had left her tree and come to see the commotion. She joined them from the mansion side, which he thought curious, but the sounds from her mouth distracted his thoughts. The scream built as she drew closer until finally she let loose and it erupted in a cacophony of sound. Odolf could not cover his sensitive ears with his paws as Rowan could do with his, so when the sound reached him it burst into his mind painfully. He let out his own cry, this one of pain, and lay down on the ground. He curled up like a pup, nose to his chest, then his head flung back as the howl broke free and joined her shrill, painful scream. Everything felt like pain for a moment, until her scream died down and he was left with the sound of silence, then Rowan's voice speaking to Cabbage in the irritating faerie language the wolf could, unfortunately, understand but not block from his ears.

To say Cabbage was bi-polar was perhaps not entirely true. Tri-polar would have been slightly more accurate. Most days she flitted about in a state of child like confusion, barely aware of her surroundings. It was her attitude during such times that led most to classify her as a banshee, as she was often consumed by a deep sorrow that was almost palpable to others. Rarely, she was a level headed and wise creature. These moods were known to most. There were few who knew the complete truth of her banshee nature.

She heard a voice calling her from what felt like far away, and she turned to find one of the Fae at her feet. It had been many months since Cabbage had last seen a Trooping Fairy, many years. Perhaps even many decades. Time was strange to her and a Fae's memory was seldom reliable, consumed as it was with all of infinity. But in her current state Cabbage remembered. She remembered the last time she'd seen one of his kind...with living human eyes.

Her eyes snapped forward in her head, huge, dilated pupils in the middle if white sockets stretched inhumanly large. When she spoke her voice emanated clearly to all the Fae around her, speaking almost as much with mind as with breath. It was a noise that at once felt loud as the rumbling of earth, yet quiet as the most intimate of whispers.

YOU, she screamed at Rowan, YOU KILLED ME

There were so many fey in one place; the closeness was making his skin crawl, even worse than it already was. He curled his thin lips in disdain and carefully picked his way to the front of the line. A few fey and animals shuddered at his approach; those that remembered him. Others, mere newborns to something as ancient as Tsirisis, did not even glance at him. He watched the bulldozer and listened to the chatter. It amused him to no end that many of the fey knew nothing about the machines beyond, guessing at what they were, trying vainly to fit the bright yellow construct into their own terms. He had seen them, or at least something like them, some time ago. Before he had gone into hibernation he had witnessed the wretched things tearing up another part of the forest to make way for a road and some human's home. They had been been much bulkier and clumsy then. It was clear that, even as beasts evolved, so did the human's technology. Though he was not so keen on fear from his fellow fey, it stunk up the air; any manticore with half a nose could smell it, even more overpowering than the fumes from the grumbling machine. They were afraid. Why should they be? The fence was coming down. Now would be the perfect time to seek revenge. They would be free. Suddenly, one of the fey nearby, some sort of banshee, began to wail. Tsirisis covered his sensitive ears but couldn't help but laugh. "You are all so pathetic! We could finally have our chance to show these humans we are not to be trifled with any longer, and yet all you do here is sit and scream and cry? Ha! We are all doomed." In true manticore fashion, the voice that flowed from Tsirisis' mouth was light and delicate, beautiful even. He grinned even more widely. "When that fence comes down, I shall hunt and feed and make those humans remember why they once feared us." He sat down and licked a taloned hand, intentionally showing off his gnarled claws.

The howling died down. Odolf closed his canine mouth, pelt and scalp feeling uncharacteristically hot. His ears felt warm too, and he looked around, hoping none had noticed his pained crying. "You are all so pathetic!" came a voice, and the Skinwalker noticed the Fae Tsirisis yelling at the others surrounding them. Odolf pushed himself into a sitting position. Pathetic was a word he'd not heard for many centuries, but it struck him hard. It was always used to make him follow a path he did not want to follow. First, his Chief had told him, out of earshot of the others, that he was pathetic for fearing the path of a Skinwalker. Then, his father had told him he was pathetic for simply lying down and doing what they told him. All his life, it had been used to guilt him into acting. Now it made him angry.

The voice emerged from somewhere amongst the dozens of jewels that glinted in what he assumed was its face. Tsirisis was a creature that Odolf had heard of but avoided, knowing he wouldn't know what to think or how to behave around the creature. Now he saw that the eyes were the only think a person, creature or beast could look at for any length of time when watching Tsirisis. They were mesmerising, in a way, like staring into the moon, but they were also the only part he could bare to focus on. The rest of the thing, possibly a manticore, could only be described as hideous. Its hide was shaggy and patchy, a clear sign that it was old, even ancient, and even the spines on its back looked like they'd seen better days. And the wolf simply couldn't bare to look into the mess of snakes that curled around the creature's head. So instead, Odolf stared into its eyes, even though it seemed as though they could stare into his soul.

It was then that he noticed he was now calm, thoughts collected. "You think a rational react to the prospect of our death and the destruction of our home is pathetic?" Odolf's voice left his jaws as a low growl, barely audible. "You think it's funny?" He watched the ugly thing lick the horrible claws on one of his hands. "The fence is there because the humans feared us. Now they are different humans and cannot remember to fear us." Letting his voice grow louder, Odolf's yellow eyes narrowed. "But they fear the unknown, and that is enough. We do not need to spend precious moments destroying their world, when we will need all the time to rebuild ours." How could a creature so old and world-wise be so ignorant of the issues that were being raised by the new human presence? Odolf did not know.

The skinwalker shook his head. His shaggy mane, now fluffed up slightly again, defensively, fell over his eyes. He turned away from Tsirisis, willing the creature to be less rash. It was at this moment that he spotted the most beautifully delicious-looking sight. The soft, white fur that stretched over such a lean body. The pretty pale nose on the end of a white snout. The tall-reaching ears and large, brown eyes. The long, thin legs the colour of snow. Odolf had never seen a more delectible-looking meal. Enticing, the doe stood near the fence as did all the other creatures. How had he never seen such an animal before? Her eyes were wide as a deer's should be, but he'd never seen the snow-white fur on prey before. He had to have her, to send her red blood dripping over her bright white fur, to reveal the pink flesh of muscle and the cream bone beneath that pelt. He even fancied himself wearing her pelt, or treasuring it once he was done. His eyes narrowed and saliva foamed at his mouth as he stared, wondering how he was to take her down with so many other creatures around.

Junipe stood in front of the wall, staring up at the smooth, pale stone. She said nothing, simply allowing herself to marvel at the strength of the structure, the raw power that she could feel in the cool stone. It seemed strange to her that man had been able to create it... Her own kind had never been able to create anything, certainly not a large slab of stone like this. But she supposed that if man could create monsters like the bright yellow thing with blunted teeth that she had been looking at before, they could build a wall like this as well. She almost wished that she could create things like they could...

She was torn from her thoughts when a piercing scream ripped its way into her consciousness, forcing her to focus on the banshee that was floating near the wall. She usually tried to avoid banshees and other such creatures, since they were often unpredictable and not exactly the kindest of creatures. Junipe preferred to speak with the Treefolk, Fae, other Nymphs, and animals of the forest rather than those who had experienced death first-hand. But she couldn't see how she could avoid the banshee now, when she was so clearly upset. If she could help the girl, she would.

The nymph stepped out from the trees where she had been observing what was going on silently, and approached the banshee. Just before she opened her mouth to speak she noticed a fairy standing on the ground near the banshee, trying to get information from her. Junipe turned to look at him curiously, and listened to him ask her what was amiss, just like she had been planning to do.

When the banshee screamed at him, accusing him of being the one to kill her, Junipe backed away a step. Her green eyes settled on the banshee, then the fairy, and back to the banshee again. She didn't know whether the accusation was true or not, so she didn't say anything. In fact, she turned the other way and walked in the opposite direction of the fairy and banshee, not wanting to get involved in the argument that she thought might be about to begin.

She found herself coming close to a wolf, who seemed to be angry with a creature she had never seen before. The other creature was large and by far the most terrifying creature she had ever seen, with its long spikes on its back, scorpion tail, wild mane of snakes, and multiple glowing eyes. Its mouth was grinning, filled with needle-sharp teeth, and a long tongue. As she stared, somehow both horrified and fascinated, it began to clean its long, gnarled claws. Junipe had never seen anything so strange or so horrifying. Some part of her knew that she should have been terrified, and she was definitely scared of it, but somehow she couldn't get herself to run away.

She had heard about manticores before, from various creatures that inhabited the forest. Somehow, they seemed scarier in the stories... But as she stared at the creature, green eyes wide, she realized that perhaps it was normally much more terrifying than it appeared to be now. She remembered hearing that some manticores fed off fear, and there hadn't been much to fear in their forest home as of late... And it looked old, very old. Judging from the rough patches of fur that covered its coat, she assumed that it must have been centuries old. Far older than herself.

Junipe listened to it speak about how they were pathetic for being afraid, and about how he was glad the wall was coming down. She tilted her head to the side slightly, listening carefully. Every other creature seemed terrified to see the wall come down... At first it seemed odd that this one would be happy about it, but as she listened, his reasons for wanting the wall destroyed made more and more sense. He needed to feed. Just as she needed berries and nuts to survive, this creature needed the fear of other creatures. She shuddered. She couldn't imagine using fear as a source of nourishment. She definitely preferred her diet of berries, nuts, and leaves.

She tuned out the wolf as he spoke and backed away a few steps, not wanting to end up having to fight with either of them. Junipe didn't agree with the manticore, but she didn't completely disagree with him either... She understood the concerns the other creatures had, but she wasn't sure that it was such a bad thing. Exploring the world beyond the wall was an exciting prospect for her. Humans didn't seem as bad to her as the rest of them seemed to think. What if they had changed since they last came to visit their forest? And what had they ever done to make everyone so wary of them anyways? She almost wanted for the wall to come down, so that she could discover for herself what humans were really like, and to see what lied beyond the slab of rock that isolated them from everything else.

The cold chill of the iron felt suppressing and suffocating. Instinct told the white doe to turn tail and run as fast as she could, away from this strange structure. Yet logic told her that this horribly unnatural creation was the only thing that kept her safe from the creatures she feared most: men. So she stood her ground, wide eyes peering past the bars into the unknown, taking in the sights of the strange yellow monsters that roared beyond the hill. What were they, and what was there purpose here? She wondered, her curiosity getting the better of her fear.

As she studied the scene on the other side of the fence, she slowly became aware of the upset that was rising around her in the other creatures of the forest. There was so much arguing, she couldn't grasp each individual conversation. But there were so many of them, all different creatures from all different parts of the woods. Had they all been lured here by the yellow monsters?

The doe was not one to partake in conversation, much less arguments, so she did not raise her voice to give her opinion on the matter. It probably wouldn't have been welcomed anyway. As she observed she began to feel the uncomfortable sense of being watched, and after a short moment of investigation, she spotted the culprit: a strange looking wolf was staring at her with a look she was all too familiar with. She flicked one ear nervously. Surely this wolf wasn't fool enough to chase her. Not in this forest. But as she stared back into the eyes of the predator, she realized he wasn't a wolf. Those eyes were not the eyes of a beast. At least not entirely. They were also the eyes of a man.

In the instant the doe came to realize what the creature was, she turned and fled back into the forest, disappearing into the brush. Instinct and fear finally won. She was gone.

The chase was on. Odolf had had only a moment to see the nervous flick of the doe's ear before she fled the scene. He tensed the muscles in his hind legs and bounded after her without hesitation. He forgot about the treefolk, the manticore he'd been yelling at, and all the other fae that collected around the fence. All he knew was the tunnel formed by the rushing undergrowth and the power that surged through his limbs as he sprang forward. His eyes were fixed straight ahead and trained on the fluffy tail of the white doe in front of him. She was fast, the fastest prey he'd chased. But he was fast too, and he was determined to catch her. He wanted to tear into the soft flesh of her white rump and taste her blood on his tongue. It would be this that kept him running.

He was upwind of her, so the doe would be able to tell how close he was as he ran, but Odolf didn't care because as long as he kept her in his sights he'd catch up eventually. What creature could run for longer than a wolf? He didn't know of one. He neared her. The wolf let his jaws snap open and shut, hoping to scare her a little; maybe she'd lose confidence and stumble. Jumping over tree roots - possibly some creature who'd not woken yet - and ducking under low-hanging branches, he followed her through the forest, not knowing how far through the forest they'd gone or how far they would go before he caught up.

Chaos exploded around her. Many of the animals echoed her cries, a wolf took off through the woods after prey, a flock of birds rocketed out of the tree tops. The feeling of panic that had been growing all morning had reached its creshendo, and now all sense of reason was lost. A chill wind cut through the air around Cabbage. Along the bottom of the iron fence a fine layer of frost began to form. For the first time Cabbage was behaving like a proper banshee, reliving the moment of her death over and over inside of her mind while the waves of pain, anger, and sadness manifested themselves in the world around her as a bitter cold. That was the extent of her power, though. She was still only a ghost, after all, a meer memory of a life once lived. She couldn't hurt the little fairy that was the object of her rage. But she could sure haunt the hell out of him. Just as things were getting really dramatic around her, however, she was interrupted by a loud crash and the squealing sound of metal on metal. While she had been distracted, the gigantic yellow beast had snuck up behind her and crushed itself against the fence, it's jagged jaws working against the bars, pushing them in at a wild angle. It backed up and rocketed forward once more, warping the fence. Along its base the grass was tearing and warping, revealing the concrete in which the fence was set, tearing it from the ground. Cabbage forgot her anger of a moment before, consumed by her fear of the present. Her instincts told her to run, and so she fled into the trees.