The sound of heavy boots accompanied by a loud whistling tune caused the smug look on the dryad's face to vanish. It was replaced by the look of fear and panic. She turned and became a whirl of leaves. The dryad was gone, but Mike feared she was just hiding in one of the other trees - who used to be human like him.
"Ah, that'll be perfect!" shouted the bear-like man in the lead of the troop of men pointing right at Mike.
"There are hundreds of trees we stomped passed that looked just the same," complained one of the muscled young men behind him.
Mike noticed all of the men were carrying axes. Bringing up the rear were a couple of pack mules.
"Similar but not the same," corrected the master woodsman. He sighed and explained, "We are here to fill a specific order for the furniture maker, and to make the specific piece that has been ordered as a gift for his majesty, he requires specific wood. That means a specific tree. One that is straighter than most with the branches spaced the proper distance to minimize knots and other imperfections. If we were just looking for lumber, we would have stopped at the edge of town. Apprentice, you'd best pay attention, your contract with me is for 12 years, and you'll learn to be a proper woodsman, or you'll be of use to me in another way," he added sternly with a nod to the pack mules.
The young man's irritation was replaced by fear as he whispered, "The witch woman?" He gathered up his wits and added, "I'm sorry, master woodsman, I had no intent to make an ass of myself. I didn't realize how important the selection of the tree was to furniture making."
The master woodsman laughed, "Normally, it's not. If you're talking about crafting a crude table for a tavern or carpenter's shop. However, when royalty or wizards are involved, if you don't deliver the finest wood, you may end up a pile of ashes. Remember that. Besides, the furniture maker will pay handsomely for wood of this quality." The master woodsman ran his hand over Mike's trunk with admiration.
Mike tried to speak, but all he succeeded was in rustling his leaves.
A couple of the young men started.
"The tree's haunted! It's leaves move without wind!"
"Fear not," the master woodsman said knocking with his fist on the tree trunk making Mike mentally wince. "It's just wood. Though we can tell the furniture maker that it's enchanted." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "That should fetch a higher price."
"But the rustling," protested one nasal voiced man.
"Is just rustling. It's probably a gnome or dryad or sprite. They're always trying to keep the best trees for themselves. But like squirrels, and birds that nest in this tree, they'll just have to find another tree."
It was at this point that Mike noticed that there were a number of things moving about his branches and leaves. Some bugs were chewing on his leaves, and trying to bore through his bark. A woodpecker was jabbing at the borers with its awl like bill. A robin had even started to build a nest. Some other birds were checking out his branches, and a squirrel had indeed leapt from the branches of another tree into Mike's canopy.
"If you say so, master woodsman," the nasal youth said grudgingly looking about for ghosts, sprites or other woodland haunters.
With anger and concern the master woodsman shouted, "Lout! Don't drink that water!"
The first muscled youth who had complained about trekking out to the dryad's glen was kneeling over the dryad's pool with his hands cupped in the water. He let the water fall from his hands back into the pool. He sniffed the water dripping from his hands.
"It doesn't smell foul," he said.
"In these woods, sweet water can be just as deadly," warned the woodsman. "You wouldn't be the first lad to drink from one of those sweet pools and not return to village as the result." Then he knowingly gently padded Mike's trunk again. He added, "Why do you think we had the donkeys lug out those skins of ale and water?"
"Right, thank you, master woodsman," the man said contritely wiping the water off on his breeches.
Mike was horrified. The woodsman knew or suspected. The men started to work securing ropes and chains to control the tree's fall so as to minimize damage to the trunk and branches. The whole time the master woodsman lectured as to the reasoning, and how a stout unbroken tree branch that was straight could fetch more than the trunk of a less perfect tree.
Feeling much like a patient being operated on in Medical College theatre by medical students without anesthesia, Mike was positively quaking in his roots.
At last the troop of woodsmen were ready. The woodsman drew his finger along an invisible line across the base of the Mike's trunk above the root line. He swung his axe to make a wedge. Then his young apprentices secured the chain around the trunk and to the donkeys that began to pull and tighten it cutting deep into the woody flesh of Mike's trunk.
"I thought we were going to use our axes," complained the nasal one hefting his axe.
The man next to him laughed and swatted his upper arm, "You weren't paying attention. We salvage more wood with the chain saw technique. We'll use the axes to cut the branches."
Mike screamed mentally as his sap covered the tightening moving chain saw as it ground through him slowly and methodically as the donkeys continued to pull.
Somewhere during the process, Mike passed out. When he came to again, he was lying on his side. Most of his branches were gone. Young men scattered about busily worked to strip leaves from the branches as they bundled them for transport. Strangley and horribly, Mike could still feel each branch and twig as it was being handled and bound or disgarded. He wanted to cry. The efficient troop of woodsman soon had Mike hitched to the donkeys and had donkeys laden with the bigger branches. The smaller branches were in packs carried by some of the men. They began their trek back to town, where the wood would be finished at the mill and then delivered to the furniture maker. Mike was painfully aware as his body was dragged along the forest floor that he was still conscious and had not died when he had been cut down. At least that wicked dryad hadn't gotten his essence. Someone had mentioned a witch woman in the village that they were headed to - maybe she could help him, if only he could communicate.