(reservado por Adeptus Hispanus)
So tall was the Treelord his shadow engulfed the Lady of Vines.With a creak of ancient wood, he dropped to one knee. The regal Branchwraith gestured languidly, though her leaves shivered in glee.
‘Rise, Lorhaldh, my love. You need not bow so low.’ The Treelord remained upon his knees, a gesture that sent a ripple of whispers through the Dryads thronging the grove. ‘She answers not,’ boomed the mighty spirit, ‘Thus you are my liege, and to you I offer fealty and counsel both.’
The Lady of Vines felt a surge of hope. Treelords could be mercurial, their inconstant natures making it hard to rally them in common cause, but Lorhaldh was well respected indeed. Her face remained composed. ‘As the seasons, then. What counsel give you, great Lorhaldh?’
‘Only this, my lady. Much evil is there amid the Glade of Horned Growths, and gnawrats a-many. Like autumn leaves shall our warriors fall.’
The lady’s throne of vines writhed as she leaned forward, a vicious smile creasing her lined face. ‘Fear you not, my love. Though our foes are rich in pestilence, the god-trees shall aid us against them.’
- The Quest for Ghal Maraz.