It began with whistling. They tore my trees down while doing so. The felling of ancient willows was not something I would easily forget—or forgive.

He knew that as well as I did.

The sigh that escaped his mouth was drawn out as he dipped his head to me. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? You and I both know we’re not here for small talk.” The war god jerked his head to the wolves prowling the shadows. “Call off the dogs, Adellis. It’s not fair.”

“When have you ever played fair, Kaisar? It’s been a few centuries if I recall correctly.” I frowned, shaking my head. “Your followers have been encroaching on my land for too long, and Barion has hardly been accomodating.”

He sagged against one of the old willows, his skin singeing the bark. “You mean these immemorial things? They hardly survived the floods. Surely the loss of a couple trees is nothing of consequence.” He sighed, flicking his hand dismissively. I bit my tongue as the bark hissed and withered, pulling away from his body.

“Maybe not to you,” I snapped crossly, “but they are the only things keeping the Gryms from breaking the walls.” That appeared to jolt him. His amber eyes flashed with something akin to alarm as he met my gaze. Abruptly he straightened, moving away from the still-hissing tree.

“It’s a Willow March?” He frowned, his eyes ripping towards the ribbon-like fronds that swayed and snagged at dark shadows that dared tread past them.

“Yes. One of the last in the area.” I nodded, my lips sliding down. “The ones east of here died when Havahel decided a new stretch of farmland was better than protecting his followers. Look where that got him.” I scoffed. Some kinder part of me pitied the old god, but it was time for him. We all still die, after all.

“And now that area is a wasteland.” Kaisar lamented, his eyes turning towards the rolling hills. “I’ll talk to the acolytes. They won’t be happy.” He warned.

“Your devotees are hardly happy. Inform them that they are welcome to take it up with the grizzlies, though I am sure they understand that is a fight they would not come close to winning.” To my surprise he laughed. He threw his head back and freed a booming sound, the willows curling away from him with muted whispers. “Funny, is it?”

“I didn’t know you were capable of jokes Adellis, I seem to learn more about you every day.” He chuckled, offering one of his lopsided grins.

“Don’t get it twisted. We aren’t friends, we never will be.” I explained firmly. “Not after what you allowed your followers to do with the Saplings.” I hissed, taking a guarded step back. The amusement on his face faded instantly, a scowl replacing the cheerfulness.

“_I _didn’t allow them to do anything. The Gryms had corrupted that bunch far before I could stop them. You can’t keep blaming that on me.”

“I certainly can, and I will continue to.”

He sighed again, his eyes narrowing as he turned slowly towards the trees. They whispered to one another, their inaudible carried by the ever-providing wind. Tales once spoke of them being able to speak aloud—however, that was long before my time, and it had been long before the Gryms had been allowed to roam freely for only the second time in four centuries.

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End!