Oak looked at his brothers and sisters and cousins. “Tool. Spear,” he said.
He hefted the spear. It was a gift from Friend Broccoli. A Tool. His first tool.
Two abominations were held against trees, roots wrapping around their struggling form. His spear lashed out. One of them died.
Elm and Ash and Cedar and Pine watched.
“Tool?” Ash, always inquisitive, asked.
“Tree-Friend Broccoli. Cleaner of trees. Give tools.” He took a deep breath, his insides creaking with exhaustions. So many words.
He nodded. The next tool came up. It was a long pole, bent, with a taut vine between both ends. This one had confused him. Then he saw the frog-people hunters. He understood then.
The second abomination squealed at the hit. He had missed its head, but it was still injured. The next arrow missed entirely. The third killed.
“Tool... bow,” he said.
Soon Sister Broccoli’s vision for an armed forest would be accomplished.