The ranger knelt among the roots so thick they formed natural steps, her boots silent on earth that had been absorbing footfall for three centuries. Above, the canopy hung so dense that noon felt like dusk, and she waited in that green silence for the sound of the ax. It came. Metal biting into heartwood echoes different through a living forest. She rose without hurrying, hand already on the bow, and moved through the undergrowth as if the ferns and shadows had been waiting for exactly this shape, this weight. The poachers had left their horses at the forest's edge. They always did. They were three when she found them, gathered around an ancient oak they had already marked for felling. Their saw hung against the trunk, and they were laughing, the sound of men who had forgotten that the forest listens. She drew the first arrow and called out before releasing it. Some of Mielikki's children kill in silence. This one always announced herself first. It was part of the covenant. The forest, as always, would clean up what remained...