Picea

History
Between two dry rocks, a tiny seed took root. It began to sprout and reach upward, forcing the stone beside it aside as months and years and decades passed. Leaves fell and regrew with each season, an endless cycle to be unbroken.

It was broken, however. A blight spread across the land, thought to have been started by a lone dragon from the plague flight. The druids of the nature flight responded, a towering imperial among them. As the fungi crept across her bark and her leaves rot around her, the yew tree pleaded for help. 'Please,' She groaned out in a voice left unheard but as sweet as honey,'Save me. It hurts, please.'

The green imperial lowered his head to the small thing, merely a shrub compared to the behemoths he was used to. Yet she spoke with such clarity, a voice that called out above the others that formed the garbled mess. Druids weren't supposed to interfere with the natural order, yet he sensed such clarity and intelligence. He let his muzzle brush against her branches, and his eyes took on a deep purple glow. 'Thank you.' The tree gasped as her dry leaves were brushed away.

Then the screaming began.

The tree twisted and writhed, attracting the attention of the other druids as they watched their archdruid cast his magic. Claws reached up from the yew's branches, the twigs forming into scales. A maw full of sharpened bark for teeth, an unnatural twisting of the arcane and natural.

But soon, the screaming stopped and all was silent. Before them, what was once a shrub stood a statue of a skydancer, frozen and motionless. The tree's roots had curled around to form her feet and forelegs, uprooted from where they once spread through the dirt. Her eyes glowed pale brown, and they moved about in their sockets.

Mist's muzzle pressed into her chest, and the wooden dragoness collapsed to the ground.