“Justice， Lord King！” she cried. “Come to our aid. Protect our people. They are felling us in Lantern Waste. Fortygreat trunks of my brothers and sisters are already on the ground.”
“What， Lady！ Felling Lantern Waste？ Murdering the talking trees？” cried the King， leaping to his feet and drawing his sword. “How dare they？ And who dares it？ Now by the Mane of Aslan.”
“A.a.a.h，” gasped the Dryad， shuddering as if in pain. shuddering time after time as if under repeated blows. Then all at once she fell sideways as suddenly as if both her feet had been cut from under her. For a second they saw her lying dead on the grass and then she vanished. They knew what had happened. Her tree， miles away， had been cut down.
For a moment the King’s grief and anger were so great that he could not speak. Then he said： “Come， friends. We must go up river and find the villains who have done this， with all the speed we may. I will leave not one of them alive.”
“Sire， with a good will，” said Jewel.
But Roonwit said， “Sire， be wary even in your just wrath. There are strange doings on foot. If there should be rebels in arms further up the valley， we three are too few to meet them. If it would please you to wait while.”
