To roam his mother’s woods freely was Archon’s right: he was her favored, chosen creation. She hid no part of her woods from him, and in turn, he served her when it was needed.

To be the child of a god bestowed certain powers and abilities. To Archon, with his flesh and sinew of wood and bark, his mother had also bestowed a sense of purpose.

His caprice was his own. He’d oft seen his mother watch him with inscrutable eyes as he roamed the wide expanse of trees, teasing and tricking the humans who had begun to live among her boughs.

So long as he interfered not with her clerics and favored, Archon knew she’d not stop his fun. If anything, his actions served to wake her from the slumber she so often drifted in these days. He was serving her in his own way: keeping her connected to this world, grounded, as she grew ever distant.

Today, he lurked in the trees outside a little settlement. The people there were simple folk, new to the woods. They’d yet to show the forest the respect it deserved.

Archon felt a need to impose that need for respect upon them—for his mother’s sake, of course—and not at all for his own pleasure.

Perhaps he’d summon wild boars to run through their pathetic fields, sowed where they’d struck down trees, or perhaps a miraculous growth they’d see as the sign from the gods it almost was.

Or perhaps he’d simply prank them. Send a bird to tangle in their clean laundry, or make all their plants fail but a few that he’d drive to grow uncontrollably.

The day was his: he’d find something fun to do, whatever path he chose.

Beneath him, Archon heard the sound of footsteps: heavy breathing, and perhaps, a quiet sob. He peered down, curious, looking to see who passed below.