As it strode through the woodland at a healthy gate, though disturbingly quiet, capable of avoiding snapping even the quietest of twigs with an ancient's expertise, the leaves and branches of the plant began to withdraw inwards, as if being vacuumed by some miniature force. As the bush began to disappear, though, it was replaced by more human anatomy. Branches evolved muscles, leaves narrowing into hair strands and falling against his green-tinged flesh to remain only as intricately drawn tattoos.
Eventually, in the bush's wake, continued striding a man of modest handsomeness, fawn-flavored freckles spotting his arms and face, his hair a mane of curly earth brown and his eyes as green and ancient as the earth itself. Armed with an immature, dimple-tipped smile and a rusting weapon tied to his hip by a belt of vines, he * his head at thrush bird's panicked warbling cry from above and pinching his lips together, replied in a series of whistles and chirps that appeared to immediately satisfy if not outright calm the tiny beast.
It had been a nice nap, the last half century, but if he'd been awakened it meant someone or somethings were disturbing his wood. The Wren did not like disturbers of the wood. Not one bit.
((Feel free to throw yourself in. XD))
