Avatar of Thistle
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    1. Thistle 9 yrs ago

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As the others were falling asleep, Clover came walking out of the forest. She was glad that no one had seemed to notice her slip away. She had needed some time to console her Sisters whose home trees had been destroyed, and also to plant a small section of her own home plant to regain energy after the fight. Sh stayed near the edge of the clearing, not daring to come any closer to the fire. Seeing the wolf-kin awake, she waved at the elf, so that she could see that it was a friend, not another monster, hanging out nearby.
Good night, y'all, it's 2 am and I start work at 9 am haha
The nymph stood, and gently brushed her knees off. She didn't mind the dirt, but she thought she might as well.

"Of course. It was a living being that will rot, as was previously mentioned. It will rot beneath the soil, and being new life!"

She looked at the woodsman dead in the eyes, and gave a half smile.

"My Sisters need to feed."

She then walked up to him, and continued to look up at him for a moment, before giving him the best hug that a small girl possibly could.

"Thank you for your kindness towards my forest, deer-kin. My Sisters and I greatly appreciate it!"
Oh my gosh vault boy that's the freaking best
Clover, who had been preparing to take Cliver's advice with her roots, felt the anger that had filled her body being replaced with triumph. Yet, somewhere deep inside of her, she felt sorry for the beast. It knew not what it did. She took a deep breath, and let her grip on the earth relax.

"Now, beast, rest. Restore what you have destroyed."

From beneath the body of the creature, roots crawled upward. In a slow, calm movement, the tendrils of plant took the corpse below the surface of the soil, leaving only the severed head behind.
Clover rolled as she fell, not managing to catch herself, but avoiding being injured while falling. She looked up, and watched as the monster chased Lilith into the clearing.
From beneath the frosty ground, age-old roots sprung up, and wrapped themselves mercilessly around the beast's feet, ankles, and legs. Clover, her hands planted firmly on the ground, glared at the wolf creature, her eyes full of malice.
Clover, who had been so prepared for this fight, was taken aback by what she saw. Not the mastery with which the woodsman cut the log, but the kindness that he showed both her and the tree. He respected the forest, and thanked it for the gift he was receiving. Never before had she met a wood-cutter that was so kind and thankful for her home. She gave him a smile of appreciation before looking back at the cave, making a mental note to properly thank him after the battle.
Clover was stricken by the sight of the flames. Note to self. The word fire was the mortal word for the Red Death. She could sense the evil, the malice, the anger in that torch.

She was shaken from her fear by the sound of the woodsman. She pointed a trembling finger in the direction of a fallen tree.

"Sh...she volunteers to help...the brave soul..."
You could always tell us what the order is
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