[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/yoBkm3v.png[/img][/center]

[color=#9CAF88]Matt smiled as he slipped the baseball back into his glove.

[color=00aeef]"Guardians of the forest it is,”[/color] he whispered to himself.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack and took one last look toward the water. The campers were still laughing and shouting across the lake, and one canoe had become the center of attention, with more kids than allowed trying to climb aboard. Somewhere, a counsellor blew another whistle, though this one sounded farther away and far less urgent than before.

No one had noticed him standing there, and no one cared that he hadn’t made it to the beach. That suited Matt just fine, and he began to walk.

The trail leading toward the trees was nothing more than a well-worn path of packed earth winding between towering pines. As soon as he stepped beneath their branches, the sounds from the beach seemed to disappear. The laughter became distant, and the whistles faded until all he could hear was the sound of birds perching in the trees and the crunch of twigs and needles beneath his feet.

Taking a deep breath, Matt inhaled the air of the forest. The air even smelled different. It was cooler, earthier. Not quite like the Christmas trees his family got at the U-cut lot, but there was a smell that was unique to the forest and the trees guarding its borders.

Glancing upward, Matt took a look at the sentinels. The trunks stretched higher than he thought possible, their branches dancing gently in a wind he could not feel. Every now and then, a bird called from up above, and a squirrel ran along the branches, inviting him to follow.

[color=00aeef]"Definitely Ent country,"[/color] he murmured quietly.

He grinned to himself. If Camp Wyaconda really did have guardians, this was where they'd live. If there were monsters, this is where they would hide.

Every few yards, something new caught his attention. A fallen pine cone nearly as big as his hand. A feather resting in the needles. When he saw the enormous tree with roots twisting out, he thought of the Spiders of Mirkwood and knew this was one place where they hid.

Moving closer, he stopped beside the tree and rested one hand against the rough bark. Studying the trunk, he noticed its size and stretched his arms around it. Unable to see around the wooden giant, he tried to imagine how many kids it would take to wrap their arms around it.
[color=00aeef]
"I bet you've been here since before my dad was born, probably my grandpa too,"[/color] he confided to the tree.

When the tree didn't reply, he wondered how many campers had walked this trail before him. How many had stopped to greet this tree but were warned not to go any further. He remembered his mom explaining that Camp Wyaconda had been a scout camp years and years ago. Thousands of kids had probably walked up this path. Maybe someone had stood in this exact spot fifty years earlier, looking deeper into the forest. Maybe they had all stopped right here. Maybe he'd be the first one to go in.[/color]