Their machines vibrated our roots and we sucked up their piss when they got drunk and they leaned against us at midday.
After their camp was set up and the orders were barked, they started.
They started with my mother.
Could they not hear her scream?
And more.
And more, that day.
Even as our brothers burned, the rest of us touched roots in grief and rage.
The enchantment, after these years and years, had remained.
We woke.
We cut.
We cut them all.
