Quoted By:
"Greedy old willow," you grumble at the tree. Of course, the old conifer doesn't deny it in the slightest. You place a gentle hand upon her bark, which has grown coarse and rough with age. The forest has no keeper, and has grown tired from years of erosion and the ravages of age. You suppose you can spare the mana to play keeper. "You are quite fortunate that your <span class="mu-i">special service</span> piques my interest. I know the words of the old fables: <span class="mu-i">the elder tree did not grow giving of himself charitably</span>. So your reward shall be commensurate to the value that you've offered me."
"You cannot mean..." you can hear the shock and greed within her voice. You suppose it's a good tone, one that suits a greedy old conifer like her. "...you offer me a silverheart?"
"A commensurate offer, for your aid in hunting my prey," your grin gleams in the few strands of sunlight that peak through the canopy. Your eyes light with a dangerous green, your gaze becoming narrow as your hands follow her trunk down to her roots. "This shall be the price of your labor. But in return... if your wearisome attempts to haggle for a blessing from my esteemed mother cost me the opportunity to ensnare this woman in red... I will return to take it back."
"This is accepta-" the old willow starts, but you were not finished.
"<span class="mu-i">With interest</span>," you finish.
The willow breathes long and hard of the currents on the air, her hair-like leaves rustling in the wind, contemplating your offer in silence for a long moment that seems to last for half an eternity. In the end, a heart of silver is not something her greedy nature would let her turn down. Not any more than you could turn down a tumble in the hay freely offered. "Your offer is acceptable. She followed the stream north for half a mile, and then turned back to the side that she had crossed from."
"I would not have guessed that..." you admit. The old tree's branches curve towards you, offering a long and rope-like leaf by which you can fashion the laurel crown through which the forest shall speak to you. "But it makes sense. A noblewoman would not attack someone unless it were near her own territory, and that creek makes for a fine natural border."
"Humes are strange creatures," the old willow speaks the most sense that she's spoken since you met her... and then proceeds to let her greedy nature drag her back into foolishness. "Now, of my - no, of <span class="mu-i">our</span> reward, Childe of Alfheim."
"Good. You know that this is not for you alone, greedy willow," you give her a little praise, and her branches puff up with pride like a beautiful decorative tree half her age. She shall become more than simple eye candy, just as you are more than your peerless and delicate beauty. "I am no grovekeeper to guard the forests and shepherd trees into the entlings who are beloved cousins to my kin. But as a beloved daughter of the Irminsul, I can heal thy wounds and blights, and restore thee to thy youth. But to keep the scales of fate balanced..."
