Grover thought it was over. He was wrong.
Just as he turned to leave, a deafening crack split the air. A massive oak tree, its bark blackened and twisted, lunged forward with horrifying speed. Its branches, now jagged like spears, swung at him with deadly intent. Grover barely managed to roll to the side as one of them slammed into the ground where he had stood, splitting the earth with sheer force.
The other trees followed. They weren't just moving anymore—they were attacking. One lashed out with a vine like a whip, slicing across Grover's arm. He gasped as pain flared through him, warm blood seeping into his sleeve. Another root wrapped around his leg and yanked him into the air, dangling him upside down like prey.
Grover struggled, kicking wildly, but the roots only tightened. He reached for his flute, but before he could play, a branch slammed into his side, sending a bolt of agony through his ribs. He coughed, tasting blood.
These trees weren't just trying to scare him. They wanted to kill him.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Grover clutched his flute and forced himself to play. This time, he didn't play a song of peace—he played a battle call. A wild, untamed melody that vibrated through the forest.
The trees shrieked. The sound pierced the air like a blade, making the twisted branches convulse. The root holding him loosened just enough for him to twist free. He hit the ground hard, ignoring the pain as he scrambled to his feet.
"Fine," he growled. "You wanna fight? Let's fight!"
He stomped his hooves into the ground, summoning the ancient magic of nature itself. The earth trembled, and from beneath the soil, thorny vines shot up—not gentle, living plants, but razor-sharp weapons. They wrapped around the evil trees, squeezing, slicing, and tearing through bark. The trees howled in agony as the thorns dug deep.
Grover didn't stop. He raised his hands, and a gust of wind surged through the forest, bending the trees backward. The darkness that had possessed them screeched as it was ripped away, dissipating like smoke in the wind.
Finally, the trees stood still once more. Lifeless. Defeated.
Grover stood among the wreckage, panting, his arms bleeding and his ribs aching. The battle was over—but the scars remained. He knew now that something far darker than just enchanted trees lurked in these woods.
As he limped back toward the path, he whispered under his breath, "This isn't over."
And deep within the forest, something… listened.