Saladin stormed out of the cellar, revolted at what the tree was being subjected to. Harvested! Bit by bit! For profit! Not for the first time he wondered how he ever got mixed up with such an amoral group of beings. First the bear, then the crew of the Grapthar... These gnomes certainly have very different views on the sanctity of life. Xeno's even built a contraption to accelerate the root's growth so it can be chopped off and sold to the highest bidder... Disgusting.
As he climbed the small hill to where the tree sat, burdened as it was with layers of baubles, twinkling lights and lurid decorations, Saladin wondered if the tree was aware of anything like 'dignity'. It seemed to be sapient, of that there was no doubt - he felt it in the dismembered chunks of wood, and it felt his presence in return. But could it feel embarrassment? Shame? Whatever the reason behind the horrid trappings, he was sure the tree knew it was part of some weird, gnomish joke...
Saladin ducked under the canopy of obscene pink leaves (my gods, he thought, they've been painted!) and looked for a bare patch of trunk to place his hand. Above a dartboard, and in between what looked like two wooden humanoid females clad in grass skirts (and little else), Saladin found a patch of smooth, golden bark. Placing his hand on the warm surface, he closed his eyes and...
...he was on his knees in the hot sand, a harsh wind spitting and swirling about him. Through the smoky lenses of his headpiece he could see the shrunken, dessicated tree, all but dead, tilting at an obscene angle, some of its roots exposed to the scouring wind. Grief flooded him, as he recalled a hundred such trees in this place - a sacred grove where he'd come all his life to pray and find peace. But the Defilers were hungry and never ceased in their quest for more magic, more power. He would love to stand up to them, to fight for the trees of the Grove... but this, this sad, dying tree was the last of it's kind, the last one left. And once it passed on, so too would his power. He'd never felt so tired in all his life.
He was vaguely aware of a shadow falling over him as he kneeled there, and only after a few moments passed did he turn to see it's source. There, silhouetted against the cruel desert sun was a man standing, watching him. Long hair whipped in the hot gusts that stung both of them, the stranger's face covered by a scarf that climbed up his face to cover all but his narrow, smiling eyes.
"Can I help you with that?" the man said, pointing to the tree. His accent was strange, not one he'd heard before, even at the mobile bazaars that crept across the planet's surface. He thought he knew most of the tribes that called this blasted planet home, but this man was not one of them. He was a true Stranger, appearing before him in this, the strangest of lands.
"The tree!" The stranger shouted to be heard above the infernal wind. "I can help you save it!" Deep down Saladin knew this was important. He knew in his being that he hadn't the ability to save the tree on his own. He was too weak, too tired to do anything but sit here and perish alongside his beloved tree. But the stranger's words passed through him now as he saw something... something unbelievable... here, in the desert? Maybe he was dying after all... Hallucinating... for behind the stranger... squatting in the sand... he had heard of such things, but only in stories... was that really a........?
Saladin pulled his hand back with a start. The tree... THIS tree...
So he had saved it after all....
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