He clinks his bony fingertips together in thinking mode. What ill to bring down on the world that will do it justice? he ponders. A decision is made. The soured entity begins to move out of his small forest near the center of Nautilus — not *at* the center, because that would be too obvious to his enemies. Just a little to the west, close enough to still feast on enough energy to fulfill his plans.
Moving in the right direction. Or make that *wrong* direction, just as he is *not* Jon Deere. All Orange was mistaken. This was worse.
I see you there little fellow, he says to himself while passing the much smaller forest spirit. You can’t stop me now. I have *energy*.
“Halt!” It was as much vim as the other woods entity could muster. He was spent, but he was quick to rejuvenative, the great advantage of the wee ones. Would take a minute, though, a minute he might not live through.
“Yelloo, what’s this?”