It was still damp under the huge oaks from the downpour Aunt Pol had called down the day before, and dry wood was hard to find. He wandered about, pulling limbs out from under fallen trees and from beneath overhanging rocks. The silent trees watched him, but they seemed somehow less unfriendly this morning.

"What are you doing?" a light voice came from above him. He looked up quickly, his hand going to his sword.

A girl was standing on a broad limb just over his head. She wore a belted tunic and sandals. Her hair was a tawny color, her gray eyes were curious, and her pale skin had that faint greenish hue to it that identified her as a Dryad. In her left hand she held a bow, and her right held an arrow against the taut string. The arrow was pointed directly at Garion.

He carefully took his hand away from his sword. "I'm gathering wood," he said.

"What for?"

"My aunt needs it for the fire," he explained.

"Fire?" The girl's face hardened, and she half drew her bow. "A small one," he said quickly, "for cooking."

"Fire isn't permitted here," the girl said sternly.

"You'll have to explain that to Aunt Pol," Garion told her. "I just do what I'm told."

The girl whistled, and another girl came from behind a nearby tree. She also carried a bow. Her hair was almost as red as Ce'Nedra's, and her skin was also touched with the color of leaves.

"It says it's gathering wood," the first girl reported, "for a fire. Do you think I should kill it?"

"Xantha says we're supposed to find out who they are," the redhaired one said thoughtfully. "If it turns out that they don't have any business here, then you can kill it."

"Oh, very well," the tawny-haired girl agreed, with obvious disappointment. "But don't forget that I found this one. When the time comes, I get to kill it."

Garion felt the hair beginning to rise on the back of his neck.

The red-haired one whistled, and a half dozen other armed Dryads drifted out of the trees. They were all quite small, and their hair was various shades of reds and golds, not unlike the color of autumn leaves.

They gathered about Garion, giggling and chattering as they examined him.

"That one is mine," the tawny-haired Dryad said, climbing down from the tree. "I found it, and Xera says that I get to kill it."

"It looks healthy," one of the others observed, "and quite tame. Maybe we should keep it. Is it a male?"

Another one giggled. "Let's check and find out."

"I'm a male," Garion said quickly, blushing in spite of himself.

"It seems a shame to waste it," one remarked. "Maybe we could keep it for a while and then kill it."

"It's mine," the tawny-haired Dryad stated stubbornly, "and if I want to kill it. I will." She took hold of Garion's arm possessively.