"...Actually, I kind of would, too," Jigano agreed with a grin that held a sly, sharp-toothed humor to it. "Though he'd still probably win in a prolonged tousle." Maybe, maybe not. The bard was still deceptively lean, but beneath the loose clothing he habitually wore muscles had hardened to a fine, taut strength that was echoed in his dragon form's sinuously muscled length. "And most of them, yes. The dragon... is taking some getting used to, after what the Voice did to me," he admitted with a more sober mien, the humor fading from his eyes for a moment. "But the rest all give me abilities and senses that I am grateful for."
He nodded at Loren's clarification, smile returning, however wry. "Well, the Wicker Women are firmly rooted - for now, at least. After this I'll be watching out for traveling ones though. They're as much carnivores as these little beauties, but they're slower about it." He dusted his hands off as he stood, nudging a vegetative carcass with his toe. "They're full-sized trees, all gnarled and twisted, and they respond to motion. If you brush by one it'll curl a branch around you and pull you back to the trunk. The more you struggle, the tighter it holds you," he wrapped his arms around himself in demonstration. "Fight too hard and you might break the surface of the bark, releasing the sap - which is the real danger. Get it on your skin and you'll start hallucinating - and stop fighting, until you starve to death in its drug-addled embrace." He released himself, shoulders dropping as he pretended to go limp a moment before straightening up again. "They're pretty uncommon around here, but there are more of them in the Greatwood. Be on the lookout for trees that have piles of bones around the roots, or animals perched in the branches that are caught there with tendrils wrapped around their legs, holding them in place." A gruesome sight, but all too often one that blended in with the loam and underbrush or leaves above, masking the Wicker Women from easy sight.
He nodded at Loren's clarification, smile returning, however wry. "Well, the Wicker Women are firmly rooted - for now, at least. After this I'll be watching out for traveling ones though. They're as much carnivores as these little beauties, but they're slower about it." He dusted his hands off as he stood, nudging a vegetative carcass with his toe. "They're full-sized trees, all gnarled and twisted, and they respond to motion. If you brush by one it'll curl a branch around you and pull you back to the trunk. The more you struggle, the tighter it holds you," he wrapped his arms around himself in demonstration. "Fight too hard and you might break the surface of the bark, releasing the sap - which is the real danger. Get it on your skin and you'll start hallucinating - and stop fighting, until you starve to death in its drug-addled embrace." He released himself, shoulders dropping as he pretended to go limp a moment before straightening up again. "They're pretty uncommon around here, but there are more of them in the Greatwood. Be on the lookout for trees that have piles of bones around the roots, or animals perched in the branches that are caught there with tendrils wrapped around their legs, holding them in place." A gruesome sight, but all too often one that blended in with the loam and underbrush or leaves above, masking the Wicker Women from easy sight.
