It was another season. The fifth of the year as it was called, by some. Things were white and gray and the black mush on the streets tended to leave spots on clothing that didn't wash out. It was winter – some would insist it wasn't at all. The mush had ruined a perfectly good pair of boots already, courtesy of a driver with too much liking of his gas pedal. Lead food. A terminal diagnosis? Infaustus one day for sure. But it was the season to be jolly – to be wholeheartedly happy – t'was a folly. It came year after year this season, like a particular persistent allergy. The only thing changing was the lights on the trees, the new things in the store windows that you were supposed to give away as tokens of attention. Just symbols of your love. Of our imperfection. The perfect "I'm-so-very-sorry-something" for just $599,90* (*before taxes) the advertisement here or there. Gifts to make you happy. (He had to think of deathly gifts) It was of no concern to him – and to whom should he give such things? He would see this marketplace again next year. And the year after that. And after that. And it would change appearance. But a change in substance was slow. Much too slow. Like him. Whom to gift if you’re poison?

Concerning him were different things. Like the fact that he had three eyes now. The fact that he had developed a new sense. A new self in a way. He could see now. Differently from before. He could not explain it. Not because he didn’t want to. Some days, when he woke up and looked in the mirror, he would very much like to explain everything. Just talk everything away. But it wouldn't work. Life didn't work like that. He couldn't explain, because everyone he could talk to simply could not understand him. All he had were useless metaphors falling from his mouth, sounding fake as he dreamed them up. And no one to tell them to. Moving orthogonal to reality was one he liked. Or with a bit more teenage angst? The world as a plane. And something on there. A feeling, solid. Unless he forced that to change. He could... mutilate that world. Force it to... shatter. Plastic words. Like old Christmas trees that didn’t die. They smelled of solvents, chemistry. Death and not. The grandeur of homo sapiens sapiens was to be able to leave something lasting. On the dump where things didn’t rot in timescales that were long to him. The electric lights did not do for causing happiness, warmth-of-heart only a bad image, blurry. Like the rest.

Such were the thoughts that presently busied him, standing, looking at the shop window of some nameless electronics retailer like a mirror. Standing there in army issue boots and black and white cameo pants from the same source (Thank you they were warm and resilient. Fashion was a nuisance.), the last spots of bleach growing out of his now be-hatted hair. He had changed a lot. And he was back to some old habits. That was unaffected by the trees walking down the lane behind him. The hat looked out of place on his rather earthy garb. Trees. Walking. Right through his reflection. He blinked twice. Some kind of illusion? The ground was shaking slightly as they stalked along on their roots, a conifer merrily pushing a car aside that stood in its way. A crunching noise followed. A very good illusion if it was one.

Blink. He needed a time-out from the world, wanted. He pushed the world away. And it followed. As usual. He could see that now. Him stepping outside. Pushing himself off path. He was easy in that regard.

Probably not an illusion, those trees. Some part of him wanted to sigh. Loudly and regretfully at the bewildering things that happened in New York. Cue: High Mutant Concentrate leads to unpleasantness erupting on a regular basis – for other risks and side effects ask your local mutant populace. It tended to be recurrent. Like the itch that was Christmastime. The shoulders of his reflection slumped slightly. Accepting it was the only solution to this conundrum. Like with his other... Just saying yes it is. There really are trees walking down the street. Just let me get my knife (since I don’t have my pruner around any more). His hand needed ages to reach his back pocket. For him it was ages, until he felt the reassuring simplicity of a plastic handle.

I was a gardener once, as I almost remember. I can deal with walking trees. And why I need to? Some would say, because I can. I would beg to differ. (His eyes looked, slightly doubtful, at the little shard of black steel in his hand) But I do have cutting edge technology. The tree busied himself with smashing another car in slow motion. Merrily. If he recalled correctly the retailer was gifting the passers-by with a new interpretation of “Es ist ein Ros entsprungen”. The street had emptied, quite rapidly seeing the be hatted man was alone already, looking at his reflection in the glass. Herbicide would be a bliss right now. They were alone. Man. Doubtfully looking. Tree merrily smashing away. A glass shard flew in his direction. Like someone stalking through a sea of mud. He noted it, ignored it. It would miss him. He looked small against the 20 meter conifer. He was slow. Size is a relative dimension. He closed his eyes. All of them for a moment. The blue ones, trinity. The world was silent. Flat. Just take away my degrees of freedom. The man, lonely, dressed in most conservative colors pulled, with a reluctant twitch of his free, white, hand, the hat off his head. Near the nape of his nose, just on his forehead, sat, a perfect mirror of the other two, a third eye. It was still closed. All of them opened. The world was back. The blue iris shining hard as crystal. There was nobody there to hear the muttered voice. “Maybe this will warrant actually remembering Christmas for once.” It didn't sound tired. Just hard. It was his reason for acting.

The hat was set down on a parking ticket machine. The knife was there. The tree was there. He started running. He was surprisingly fast people would have said. If they had been there to see him. In the background the tune changed to "O Christmas Tree".

He had been had! At least that was what he was thinking as he accompanied his friend Katrina for what he thought was a mission but it seemed she was more interested in window shopping than keeping an eye out for shop lifters. Carrick thought Katrina came to him for his experience on the matter asking a thief spot other thieves something he would gladly would have done and would have had a blast doing however he had only seen one and said shoplifter pocketed a piece of chocolate and was a little girl around the age of five. The so-called mission was starting to become a great disappointment to him.

Finally managing to pluck up enough courage to ask Katrina if indeed this was a shopping trip instead of a mission like she told him he only managed to get a few words out, ”Hey Kat this isn’t a miss…” he was cut off as a woman ran screaming past them waving her hands franticly screaming about attacking trees. A crowd followed and the sky was littered with panicking birds as they flew away from danger. Instinct gripped him and his tail twitched slightly, he felt like chasing the birds and at the same time felt like going to see what was going to see what they fleeing from.

Sighing and already having a feeling where this day was going he looked over to Katrina who was looking at him as if she was expecting something from him and then his multi-colored eyes fixed on a large tree walking as clear as day in front of them. Looking down at his feet for a second he looked back to Katrina and sighed, ”Why is it always around my birthday?” Carrick asked meaning that always around Christmas and his birthday things seemed to happen as soon as he came to New York.

”I think going back to visit my Da next year…” The crowd around them seemed to dissipate for a moment and his wings opened up instinctively… ”So should I shift now or later?”

Why was it the holidays were always insanity? The year prior, there had been Central Park, and the deal with the giant horror. That had made the news. And this year, it was something out of a Doctor Seuss book, or an M. Night Shyamalan movie. The trees were alive, with the urge of carnage.

And now, he had a musical stuck in his head. Just great.

When MRC had gotten the call, he'd gone through a few stages of grief.

Denial. It wasn't happening.

Anger. BS, no way.

Bargaining. Oh please, don't make this be happening...

Depression. Why, oh why me?

And the big one, Acceptance. Okay. It was happening. What a great gift! And just in time for the holidays. Thank you, Lord!

He'd decided to make it his duty to end the madness, or help at least. Ashton had talked Cervantes into joining him, the same way any pair of gruff cops get things done. He'd grabbed his coat on the way towards the door, grunted an affirmative, complete with nod, and met Cervantes by his car, arms crossed, leaning against the side.

Now, they were speeding towards the scene.

Cervantes asked him a question.

"Nope," Ashton clipped back. "Though, I almost did something with Cthulu last year. Didn't get there in time." Not that it mattered. Somehow, New York's mutants had this thing about just so happening to be on the scene of major crimes and chaos, to help stop it. It was almost as if... someone had plotted it all out, and set the characters into the story to aid in some grand narration. A crazy adventure with insane people and gigantic problems. "Bet you a dollar some mutants are already on the scene, and trying their best to help." Ashton added. "Happened with the Gundam." The one that Shinbo kid had repeatedly pointed out to him was not just a 'robot'. Sheesh.

Rupert and Tarin emerged under an unnaturally darkened sky, to the sound of a thousand wings beating the air. The flock of birds fled to the North. Rupert faced the South. Tree branches scrapped against fifth story windows; their roots spidered and crashed over cars more innocent than his. It was impossible to see the great tree at Rockefeller Center through its towering saplings.

Good thing Rupert didn’t give a damn.

“How do you think they’d take to a hamstringing?” He asked conversationally, before slashing his chainsaw through one of the lumbering roots.

Christmas cheer is the smell of fresh pine sap, and a mutie Medium at your back.

There were several things keeping Ashley from saying anything. One; the woman that was talking to her (well, more like talking AT her) was a tad intimidating, what with her tail and wings and all. Secondly, her mind was temporarily short circuited due to the fact that the cat she had just saved minutes earlier had responded with a tiny 'thank you' to the Tailed Woman, who gave what must have been the most awkward 'thank you' ever uttered by anyone, ever.

This response was followed by a mew, naturally.

The woman still looked mad, and Ashley really didn't know what else to do. In all honestly, what COULD she do? She was in the middle of a city that was slowly turning into forest that were harming people. It was like she was in a bad M. Night Shyamalan movie, only with better...everything. Okay, so maybe that comparison was bad. Still, after Ashley's brain booted back up, she did the only thing she thought would make the world she thrust herself into a little saner.

“'scuse me.” she nodded to the woman with the tail and wings. She quickly took a few step backwards and sidestepped into a nearby alley (gotta love the convenience of these things) before pulling out the tiny kitten that she had stuffed into her pocket by the scruff of her little neck. For a moment she watched the thing thrash a bit before stopping, hanging there with a meek look on her face...well, if cats could look meek. Ashley wasn't too sure.

“You talk.” Ashley said, her voice low and just a tad menacing without her meaning to. “You're a...mutant kitten?”

Hamstringing a tree. Did tree’s have hamstrings? Tarin didn’t really care, not at all, he revved up the chainsaw and decided that the sound of its motor was better than any of the caroling he’d heard this year. Rupert turned and took on a tree and Tarin moved right behind him, back to back as another tree came around the side.

If the tree had a hamstring, Tarin found it and let out an incredibly satisfied whoop as the chain bit into wood. Nothing splattered, nothing screamed, but the tree stopped walking and its branches trembled in what had to be pain. Again….Tarin didn’t care. It was a tree, people cut them down every day, nobody cared. Well…maybe tree-hugging hippies cared…but Tarin wasn’t a tree hugging hippie…and these trees had ruined Lee’s Christmas present. That simply wasn’t okay, not by a long shot.

A huge slab of pine fell from the tree and Tarin watched as the thing started to teeter, the weight of its upper limbs pulling it to the side…towards the store he and Rupert had just left.

Down it went. Right into the window where the shopkid had been watching.

”Well, I hope he moved faster when that thing was falling than when I wanted to pay for my damn chainsaw.” the Medium commented, looking over his shoulder at his comrade in chains. For once, spirits were the last thing on Tarin’s mind, this was too much fun, ”Next?”

Some were in flames, giant balls of flames that once started they caught and burned hot because their needles were already slightly dry. Another cried out in his head as one of his roots was viciously severed by a chain saw. They screamed in his head, rage and pain and annoyance.

"Ok, I'll talk to them!"

Stop, drop, and roll! He yelled urgently. The tall pine across the way ignored the little people around him and dove towards a convenient snow pile, rolling over a car as pedestrians dove out of the way. Leave the little moving people alone! Just stay on the flat road. The part that doesn't taste like earth.

The trees may have heard that one, but they didn't seem to want to listen. They just kept saying The Father. and Must save the Father.

"They won't listen to me. They won't leave. They are looking for something. Or someone." He gasped frantically to Sveta. "What do I do? They won't stop because they are on a mission, but people are freaking out."

Who's the Father? Where is he? Why do you need to save him? He tried again, frantically.

>>"Ok, I'll talk to them!... They won't listen to me. They won't leave. They are looking for something. Or someone. What do I do? They won't stop because they are on a mission, but people are freaking out."

Sveta saw panic all around. Kai was not exactly calm either, and he was far not the wost case in their immediate vicinity. At least, he could talk to the trees. And they were thinking.

"A mission?" she blinked, shaking her head "You mean, de trees are mutants?" she looked around; there were too many of them, even is Kai could control some. "I ca see dey are freaking out." she frowned, starting to follow the trees. Wherever they were going, they had a purpose.

"Vat mission?" she asked, talking to him as well as anyone else. "Can you tell dem to... stop, or leave people alone, if I give you more power? Do you think you could?"

Christmas in the states just wasn't the same as Christmas in Greece.. This was her second winter in new york... and just as strange. Not only was she... more mutated than ever, but she was relatively trapped in an alley.

By trees.

her ill fated decision to venture out today was smacking her right about now, but at least some good would come of it. With walking trees roaming the streets, destroying cars and buildings alike, she didn't really have to worry about people staring at her... or any attention at for that matter. It brought a small, sad smile to her face. She peeked out from her alley, tucked in between two rather large buildings, and watched events unfold before her that she was sure would be in the news when she got home. That reminded her, she would need to keep an eye out for news vans.. the last thing she needed was her face being caught in the background, or worse... being in the foreground.

She glanced around for a moment or two, spying people mucking about, laughing since the tree's only seemed to trample cars and not attack people. It was a spectacle to some, while the rest just ran before crap officially hit the fan. When she was sure the coast was clear, she stepped out onto the street, following a rather large tree at a good distance.

To say she was curious was an understatement, by far. But as soon as her curiosity was stated, she was going to make a beeline for home. The tree in front of her came to a stop, unable to get past some low hanging stop light cables at a cross walk, so she stopped as well. It was around that time that she heard a boom in the distance... not close enough to make her jump, but not far enough that she felt comfortable ignoring it. She spared a look over her shoulder, glanced back to the tangled tree in front of her, and headed towards the sound.

The things she did when not really thinking about it, those were the ones that always managed to get her into the most trouble. She dropped her gaze to the side walk, reaching back to tug her red hood into place, and wrapped sloth around her neck just a little tighter...

>> "Bet you a dollar some mutants are already on the scene, and trying their best to help…Happened with the Gundam."

The detective chuckled because he knew better than to take a bet like that. Having lived in a New York for a few months now, he knew that there were always good Samaritan mutants who were trying to help or who just happened to step into the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, at Christmas and renegade trees running lose, that was a definitely call to all mutants out there to help or defend themselves. Jorge could only guess at the types of mutants who would be there…maybe even the X-Men would have answered the call. He was not sure…but there was one that haunted his mind as he glanced over at Ashton…

“What the hell is a Gun-damn?” he asked in wonder.

His answer never came as he as a sudden series of screams and shouts reached his ears through the roar of his siren. He turned his head quickly and his eyes were wide with surprise. Before he knew it, he was staring at a true scene of madness.

Trees…they were actually walking!

“You have got to be kidding me,” he mumbled more to himself as he drove towards the scene.

Trees…they were everywhere! Walking tall and proud amongst the scurrying men, women and children who screamed and shouted for help. Others seemed to be merely caught off to the side and stared in wonderment at the event that was unfolding. For once…the detective was caught completely off guard. He really had no idea what was going on other than to suspect that maybe some mutant was behind all of this. But why? Were they some Grinch who hated Christmas? Maybe Santa never brought them what they wanted and they would get their revenge by making Christmas trees come alive and wreck havoc?

There would be time to figure it out later. For now, people were panicking and screaming and ordered needed to be brought into this scene. A shake of his head and the detective drove into the scene with only a surly “This is going to be a long night” on his lips.

Jorge drove in, turned sharp and slammed down on the brakes. With a loud skid his stopped his car none too far from the marching trees ahead. The trees were all around and they seemed intent on going in one and only one location. Jorge was not sure where their destination was but judging from the carnage and havoc around them, they were not going to let anything stand in their way. The detective leapt out of his car and stared dumbfounded and completely unsure of what to do. In all his years working as a detective he had never seen anything like this.

His hand instinctively reaching for his gun, Jorge watched as one of the trees began to barrel down on a young family trapped inside of their station wagon. The tree was not diverting and apparently that clunker of a car decided right then and there to shut down. The detective could see their panicked faces inside the glass as the tree made ready to step directly onto the vehicle’s roof. With no other option, the waterbending cop ran forward and shouted.

“Hey, you…termite riddled sorry excuse for a Christmas tree!” he shouted and raised his gun high. His words were having not effect so he did the only thing he could, he aimed for the back of that think tree trunk and squeezed the trigger!

Blam!! Blam!!! BLAM!!!!

Crack! Thunk! TUNK!

Creeeeeeeaaaak!!

Jorge watched as the bullets slammed into the back of the tree’s “head”(?) and that seemed to be what grabbed it’s attention. It turned away from the family in the station wagon and made directly for him. The detective, for a moment, was pleased that he managed to buy the family enough time to get out of their car and run for it…but this led to another problem, the tree was now barreling down on him.

“Ah no..” he muttered and followed that up with a well earned curse under his breath. He yelled behind him, unsure if Ashton was there or not. “Drake! Follow those trees and see where they’re headed! I’ll get what people I can to saf-EETTTYYY!!”

As he turned back to see if Drake heard him, the detective was immediately scooped up into the bark, branching “hand” of the tree and hefted up into the air! The detective coughed and squeezed as he struggled against the firm grip of the Christmas tree that carried him like a ragdoll. Jorge wheezed as he tried to struggle against his manhandling and glared forward at his captor. There was no face, no other sign of intelligence other than its lively movements. There weren’t even any eyes! How could it see where it was going?!

Feeling his breath quickly leaving him, the detective snarled as he held his grip on his gun and tried to pry open the branches with no luck. This was not good. Held any longer like this and he would lose consciousness. In a panic he hefted his gun but since there were no eyes, mouth or nose…what was there to aim for? Then he say it, the place where the limb of this tree connected to the trunk. If he could just…

“Have…to try….” he breathed. He raised his gun and with his blurry vision unloaded round after round into the branch in order to sever it from the rest of the tree.

This better work!

He jumped at the tree, into the tree, hard brown bark under his fingers, easily burying the black knife in the trunk and using his momentum to swing up on one of the strangely vital branches. Hanging himself on it, he recovered his knife with a few twists of the blade, black blade, cutting edges. All around him green. Needles moving, piercing. Small branches were already on their way to stop him. Throw him off, balance. He had no intention of letting that happen. He was digging in. Taking fists full of sappy green life, cutting away with the black bit of steel. Jumping here and there, flickering through the openings in that kind of dance which held no beauty. Only death.

A strange kind of motion it was, on unwilling ground he walked, held himself, and wherever he went, needles fell, branches lost twigs, life. He was soon covered in sticky sap and needles, the tree not slowing in its much too intelligent moves to stop him, hold him. It had grown over a century or so. He was older. And not.

From the outside it looked, like one of the trees walking through the streets, crashing, crushing, was suffering from a severe case of EtOH-ingestion, was intoxicated by all the Christmas lights flashing, the gifts being bought, all those bargains could make you drunk with lust to shop, dancing lightly around. It walked, swayed, walked, right into a line of lights spanned over the street and decorated its crown in a tangle of blinking goodness. Christmastime how wonderful you are. The lights bound the crown and held fast, for a while at least, making the tree sway even harder, stumble. Down.

The tree went down as its roots marched on where its head could not, shaking itself, convulsing, too busied by the thing that was inside of its branches. Far into the comfort zone. And then the resistance at its tip. With a last grand splintering of monetary value, the tree laid down to rest. Its roots were still struggling. The tip was covered in the blinking lights it had pulled down with him. And at those moving roots stood a man covered in sap and needles. Smiling lightly. There was a scratch on his cheek. He turned around. Where had he landed?

OOC: Anyone willing to take Mart? Detectives?

The problem with trying to replant walking trees, Locke decided, was that they had far too many roots. It would have been no problem for a gardener Fluffy to handle say, his failed lima bean experiment from elementary school. Locke had no doubts that he could pull the roots into the ground, but the problem was that the bigger ones that kept up the momentum of the tree were hard to grab. He already had discovered that while the little roots could be pulled down by the handful, the tree just ignored them until Locke snapped them. At that point he was going to have to move his butt out of the way. His latest attempt at planting a tree had gotten him branch smacked.

Locke stood up and followed the tree that had hurt him, cradling his left arm. It felt like it had changed from a perfectly normal arm into a meat sack. It hurt, but not nearly as much as his right arm had when been broken. He was going to get even with that tree. It didn’t care that Locke had been trying to help it. People were chopping down trees, setting them on fire, all sorts of mayhem, and Locke just wanted to get them back into the ground. As much damage as the trees were doing on their own, it seemed to be much more worse when they toppled over from the efforts of the citizens of New York.

He heard the woosh of air before he sensed a tree falling. Getting hit by a branch was painful enough. To be squashed flat by one was going to be deadly. Locke scuttled out of the way of the tree, wondering why it was toppling over. In trying to plant his own tree Locke had disturbed some of the dirt, but not enough to knock a tree over. A man stepped out of the branches and Locke had to stare at him. “What were you thinking?”

((OOC:Hope that’s ok Martin))

Now that he was walking on his own two legs again and not standing on ground of variable solidity (or maybe just will to carry him off) he actually swayed slightly, trying to correct a mistake that was no longer there. Looked a little drunk maybe? Moving underground, are we not? He was facing a youth, young boy who was maybe midway into his teens and seemed to be quite angry with him for some reason. He also had long hair. Martin frowned slightly. He disliked long hair. It was impractical. Fluttered around your head when you wanted clear vision.

He managed the words to come out in a dignified tone. It was, after all, not the fact that he was covered in tree sap and needles from head to toe with a few gashes in between as garnish. He was just standing there and, coincidentally, the tree behind him had fallen and stopped stirring. Was wrapped in Christmas lights. Yes. He was wearing that needle attire as a fashion statement, illuminated from behind in hues of red and blue and green. So his voice said. “That they were a nice Christmas present of course.” Among other things. None of them had been akin to ''Burn 'them streets sown''. Slowly his hands were proceeding to pick needles from his face that had been stuck there for some reason. Sappy reason. One hand still clung tightly to the black knife. Long black knife. Sadly he could not have put it away now if he tried. The blood of the tree had glued it tightly to his hand.

“I also had a few ideas about not letting them kill people, but that was more of an afterthought really.” Most certainly not me. Most clearly not you, if it could be averted. His hand stopped searching his face for needles and continued, wandering motions, down at the throat. “May I if your mutation is actually useful for that?” Yes. Mutation. Normal people carried guns or chainsaws when conifers started slapping them. The smart ones went away entirely. What was left was being mutant and not-quite-so-afraid of the extraordinary. His look from all three eyes remained not-so-cordial the entire time. It was a bit like watching pools of ice. Only a bit colder and less forgiving. Lost your humor lad? I never had any since the day I awakened.

>>“What the hell is a Gun-damn?”

Ashton glanced out the window dismissively, and opened his mouth. Nooo ideaaa..., he started to say. It never got out. Hell breaking loose cut him off. He spotted it, shambling. Shambling hell. Yup. The trees were moving, alright. Didn't even faze him one bit.

Ashton considered how they'd deal with something like that. Calm the chaos that was the crowd, most likely. That'd be important. Stopping the trees? Pft. They'd burn that bridge later.

It was going to be a long night. Ashton couldn't have said it better himself.

He got out of the car at the same time Cervantes did, but Ashton did not draw his firearm on the trees... not that Cervantes did. No, Cervantes did something far more aggressive. He ran headfirst into danger, and... taunted a tree. Yeah. Ashton scratched his head.

"Is this really the same guy who beat Bat Man?" He wondered aloud.

Ah, gunfire that didn't do anything. Like music to his ears. Bad music. Noisy. But he got what was going on.

Cervantes was drawing a tree's attention to save a family. Ashton moved to help the family. He didn't even bat an eyelash at Cervantes' order. "Handle your tree!" He shouted reproachfully, stopping by the family's vehicle. "I'll handle helping people." Speaking of. He turned to the people, and started helping. Giving directions. Doing cop stuff. He left crazy antics to people like Shinbo, and apparently, Cervantes.

The family rushed to safety, away from the trees. Ashton turned back to see Cervantes on the ropes. A curse ran through his mind as he drew his firearm, and trained it on the tree. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. He'd feel kind of silly, shooting a tree.

At least the flocks and flocks of birds were slowly disappearing. She didn’t really need the caffeine-like jolt of the insane fear those little creatures could have. Elizabeth strolled confidently through the slowly dissipating crowd of rushing people. She could do this. She could do this. She created a potent combination of calmness, serenity, and tranquility in her mind before letting it wash out into the emotions of a last flock of birds overhead with the force of a tidal wave. Immediately she could see her effect on them. Her overwhelming power killed their terror, making them start fluttering in a small circle before searching for landing places on a power wire.

But she couldn’t stop there. She unleashed a generic wave of some kind of indescribable peaceful feeling to anything within range. She didn’t want any animal jump-starting any fear or such back into the animals she had already calmed. She also wanted to cut down on any source of fear that could eventually control her.

She patted the head of a dog as she passed it. With a bit of concentration, she allowed a stream of happiness flow into it, crushing its protective feelings against whatever it was that had stirred up the city. The canine licked her hand and wagged its tail, but she couldn’t stop. As she walked further on towards the catastrophe or whatever it was, she noticed the pooch had decided to follow her. She also noticed that it had a collar and a leash dragging on the ground. Oh well. She wasn’t going to force it to leave. And it wasn’t like she was making it stay with her.

The animal empath paused a corner, checking herself to see if she could go on without catching the fear and various assorted emotions that the animals in the area had. Surprisingly, she could. There didn’t seem to be quite as much fear in her range that she would’ve expected. But then she noticed the difference between the instance and the other experiences where she had had to deal with such a thing. These animals were in the open and smart enough to get away from whatever had spooked them.

And then she was there.

Liz froze in place at the corner of the building. Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out. Giant TREES?! were tearing up the city? Really? Honestly, that would’ve been the last thing she would’ve thought of. And if she hadn’t been aware of the seriousness of the situation, she might’ve been tempted to laugh. But Liz banished those thoughts and turned her mind to however she could help out.

It was strangely easy to concentrate. Hardly any emotion was even touching her mental barriers, much less threatening to overwhelm them. It seemed that the trees had made all the animals vanish. Critters were smart like that. Well, accept for the dog that was sitting at her side, but she couldn’t blame him for her tampering. She glanced around the street. The nearest tree was pretty far away, so she didn’t really worry about it. What could she do against it anyways? Not like she had a flamethrower on hand or anything. Besides, it wasn’t hurting anyone at the moment so it wasn’t a priority.

But the elderly lady with the cane who had fallen near the edge of the road was. She was about twenty yards away from the tree and she didn’t look like she could get up. “Come on, boy,” she said to the dog with a hand gesture. Then she began to jog across the street, making a beeline towards the lady, the dog running and barking for joy beside her.

And by the time she was able to help the lady up, Liz realized that the barking dog had attracted the trees attention (despite the fact that the tree couldn’t have had any ears, could it?). And it was starting to come towards them.

“Crap.”