It was with anticipation the sacred guardian of the oak watched this new foe approach, and aided by a burst of blessed breeze the branch tilted forward to loom ominously over the stone. Through years of bitter storms it had writhed gnarled from the twisted trunk of its over-treer, eventually extending proud and erect in its prime. Though forced to lay low for many winters, the heart of a warrior had ever-burned. Gathering now all its might, the broad branch leered under a barken brow yet-furrowed; distant winds howled as a flash of lightning in the darkening sky threw a stark shadow across the stone. A blast of wind and a clap of thunder heralded the branch as it hurled down its wooden wrath from on high.

The stick fell over onto the rock, then rolled off of it.

Wind whistled through nearby leaves for a long moment, but the arm-length branch was already plotting again. The guardian of the tree had garnered a newfound respect for this worthy fist-sized foe, and knew it would need to be even more cunning to outwit such a strong tactician. Soon, the ground beneath the two began to shift, and as it rose the resourceful rock rolled away to safety. The bold branch, however, had pinned one end of itself up against a tuft of grass, and rose up with the soil.

Called forth from the depths of the underworld itself, a fuzzy mole popped out of the ground and looked around for a moment. Surely the simple stone trembled now in terrible fear at this monstrosity, and the stick smugly sat perched just atop of the mole's head. Its impeccable balance allowed it to remain as its mount searched for enemies, so small was the rock below in its sight. The eldritch pact of wood and soil only provided so much time, though, so the mighty mole retreated into its subterranean lair.

The guardian of the tree noted with a troubled brow that the stalwart stone stood strong, but its overconfidence would be its downfall. The sneaky stick sank with its mount into the earth, and its other end tipped up into the air. The first phase of the plan had been a success, despite his exceptional opponent. Now the bold branch needed only a generous gust to move into the second phase, an inevitability given the sky-bound gray turmoil swallowing the south.

Minutes passed as the two stared each-other down, but both refused to yield, and the leaves of the tree waved on their champion. If a branch could perspire, it would have, their silent exchange was so intense. Never had the sturdy stick come across such a foe, but its resolve held strong as it called to the heavens for aid. Finally, the air stirred, and a sudden burst of wind carried the branch forward, along with the hopes and dreams of its kin.