Mofokeng's claws dug into the soft earth, his ears twitching at the sound of birds rifling through the trees. The forest was calm today and the rushing water of the streams nearby quieted his erratic heart.

There had been no strangers in quite a while, so he had settled into somewhat of a daily routine. He wakes up and emerges from his cool cave already dressed, so no animals know what lies beneath the tree warden's garb. They think only of the food he collects for them, going bush to bushel and tree to river, gathering, hunting, fishing. It's for himself as well, but he eats minimally, and doesn't seem to age. No one knows why.

It's easy to explain all mysterious things in this forest as "oh, just some magic, nothing more!" and move on. That's why Mofokeng is so accepting when the water sprites tug on his tail, or the glowing bunnies hop along in the large indents his hind-claws make. When there's an abnormal chilly night in the middle of summer, or when the trees seem to change locations every once in awhile.

Either way, he goes about his day, leaving gifts for the residents of the forest, patrolling the line, cleaning away the overgrowth on the golden gate. This is how all his days went, day in and day out, until a dragon with beauty and intrigue like no other, stumbles upon this mysterious forest, leaving petals drifting through the wind in her wake.