The trees did not merely reach.

They hunted.

Limbs that had never known the shape of branches unfolded from the trunks in wet, deliberate motions, jointed like the legs of insects that had learned to grow bark. Bark split open along seams that should not have existed, revealing pale, fibrous muscle and the gleam of something that was neither sap nor blood. The canopy above them shifted with a sound like lungs drawing breath for the first time in centuries. Every leaf turned toward the small form of the pup as though he were the only source of light left in a world that had decided light was a mistake....