The morning mist draped itself over the forest floor, clinging to the whispering leaves and painting the world in silver. Rowan hummed a forgotten tune, his basket overflowing with plump berries and fragrant herbs, when a splash of scarlet marred the emerald canvas of his herb garden.

His breath hitched in his throat. Blood. Like a viper spitting venom, it stained the soil, twisting its way between his precious chamomile and delicate lavender. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He could practically taste the bitterness of injustice.

Then, he saw them. Sprawled in the carnage, clad in the finery of the Elderia kingdom, a kingdom notorious for its bumbling nobles and their knack for causing chaos. He should have felt fear, a tremor of apprehension at the sight of those human symbols. But all he felt was a scorching, possessive ire. They had dared defile his sanctuary, his haven of healing, with their clumsy human mess.

With a flick of his wrist, Rowan sent a vine snaking towards them, wrapping around their ankle with a gentle yet insistent tug. "Up, up!" he barked, his voice sharp as a thorn. "Your filth is ruining my precious herbs!"