The emerald canopy of Eldergrove Forest swallowed Ella’s flashlight beam. As an ecologist, she’d tracked rare species here for weeks. Tonight, something shimmered between the oaks—a stag with antlers glowing like moonlight on water. Its eyes held galaxies.
Suddenly, chainsaws roared in the distance. Greedy loggers were closing in. Ella’s chest tightened; this sanctuary was unprotected. She raced toward the noise, but roots erupted from the earth, tripping her. When she looked up, the glowing stag stood before her, antlers pulsing with light.
“They must not take the Heartwood,” a voice echoed in her mind. The stag bowed its head, and mossy symbols flared across its coat. Understanding flooded Ella—she was witnessing an ancient forest spirit.
As bulldozers crashed through ferns, the stag stamped its hoof. Vines shot upward, entangling machinery. Trees bent like archers, pelting intruders with acorns hard as stones. One logger dropped his saw, screaming about “ghost branches” grabbing him