He gave a happy sigh, leaned back in is plastic chair, and drained his Bud. At his feet, his dog Bo echoed the sigh. Joe tossed the empty beer can onto the heap of cans, off to one side, then fished a fresh one out of the cooler next to him.
Popping the can, he paused. Standing across from him, at the edge of the firelight, was a strange woman. Her wrinkled face and dark garb made her hard to see, as if she were just part of the woods.
"Where the hell did you come from?" he demanded, glaring at the interloper. He stole a glance at Bo, who made no attempt to get up.
"I have always been here," the woman replied. Joe thought she had an accent. Something foreign.
"You squattin' on my property?" Joe was incensed. "Bad enough you Mexicans sneak up here and live off our welfare, you gotta squat on land that don't—"
"Where do you get your wood?" the woman cut in, gesturing at the stack, within easy reach of Joe's chair.
"I cut it myself. As if that's any of your business," he growled. "Too many trees, anyway. I'm clearin' out—"
"You have said enough!" The woman took a step closer. Her clothes looked like tree bark. Damn good camo, he thought. Bo raised his head, sniffed, and trotted off into the woods. "By your own words," she went on, "you are condemned, you and all your brethren."
"What's that supposed—" Joe sneered, then heard the snapping noises. He looked around, but never saw the bough that crushed his thick skull and collapsed the chair beneath him.
The dryad raised her arms; around her, the trees whispered in the language of the wind. "This night," she intoned, "we rise up! Join me, my sisters. Let all Nature arise and reclaim what is hers!"
Bo returned, and sniffed his fallen master. He whined and lay down next to him. Around them, the uprising began.