Without the tree to cling onto, there was no other meaning to Adrian Webster's life.

It had green leaves on all its branches, starting out as a simple sapling leaf and watched it grow into the mighty oak tree it had been a week ago. The moon shone bright too for the first time since he was born. And then they came. They came and took the tree down with a knife. A dull, lazy half day shear, and soon all of the tree transitioned into a mere stump. And he watched over everything, though he had to cover his ears when he heard the caterpillars and baby birds screaming.

They ruined more than the forest; the extent of their damage is irreversible.

And I am going to stop them further.