"I'm looking for someone. She—"
"Um, Kaelren?"
Peeble's voice comes from behind me, small and cautious. I don't turn.
"Not now, Peeble."
"Okay, cool, but I really feel like I should just—"
"Peeble. I am in the middle of something."
"Right, right. Totally. It's just that—"
"I said NOT NOW."
Peeble steps back. I can hear the click of their mandibles. "Okay. Cool, cool. Carry on. I'm sure this will be fine."
I turn back to Elle. "The woman I'm looking for is—"
The bark under my hands shifts.
The tree moves. The roots at the base coil upward, thick as my arm, wrapping around my ankles first, then my waist. Another set curls around Elle, but gently, cradling her, lifting her free of my grip and setting her aside while I'm hoisted into the air like a doll.
"What—" The roots tighten. I'm suspended ten feet off the ground, arms pinned to my sides. "What is happening?"
Peeble, from below, cleans their antennae with exaggerated calm. "Oh, are you talking to me now? You know, the me that tried to tell you that you were annoying Gerald?"
The blood drains from my face. "No."
"Yes."
"This is not—this can't be—"
"Oh, it absolutely is."
I look at the tree I'd pinned Elle against. Massive. Ancient. Bark covered in those too-deliberate patterns of moss and lichen. Hundreds of years old, at least.
"Gerald," I say.
"Ding ding ding!" Peeble claps their front claws together. "Give the prince a prize! Oh, wait, you already won one, and look how that turned out!"
I look down, well, sideways, given the angle I'm being held at, and watch as the tree gently lowers Elle to the ground. A thick root extends and pats the top of her head with what can only bedescribed as reassurance. She stands there, blinking, confused, one hand reaching up to touch the root that just patted her.
"Gerald," I growl, "is an oak that I am going to set fire to."
Peeble gasps with the dramatic horror of a beetle who has just witnessed blasphemy. "Don't you DARE talk about Gerald that way! Gerald is a SAINT!"
"Gerald is currently crushing my ribs."
"Gerald has been protecting this forest and everyone in it for centuries," Peeble continues, their voice going uncharacteristically soft for half a second before snapping back. "Gerald has saved mine and Elle's lives more times than I can count. Every version of Elle. So you will show some RESPECT to my FRIEND."
Below us, Iteration Fifteen Elle stares up at me with an expression that's shifted from fury to something approaching amusement. She crosses her arms. "Gerald doesn't like strangers touching people near his trunk."
"I'm aware of that now, thank you."
Peeble suddenly goes quiet. Their head tilts. Their antennae swivel toward the tree. I watch their expression cycle through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, exasperation, amusement, and something I can only describe as fondness.
"Yes, I know he's hardheaded," Peeble says to the tree. To Gerald. Apparently, in a conversation I can only hear one side of. "Yes, I know. A barbarian, sure, that's fair. Stupid face? That's a little harsh, Gerald, but I don't disagree." A pause. "Large muscles, yes. I suppose that's objectively true. They're very large and very useless at the moment."
