. . .

Shootin' things fer sport

Big green things. They're covered in this tough outer layer, which I s'pose protects 'em from insects and disease, but which don't do much to pertect against Bessie here. Still, just shootin' 'em don't work too good. You need to cut 'em off at the knees, and even then they take a good time dyin'. Most of 'em have different colors dependin' on season, but they ain't the usual camoflage colors. Nope, you got'cher bright greens, yellows, oranges, that kinda thing. Maybe to attract mates. They're big enough that they don't have much in the way of natchral predators. Still, they can be tough to find at times, 'specially when there's been a havy snowfall. They're almost immune to cold, y'see. Like nothin' more than to just get some rest fer the winter. Winter's a good time to bag 'em. Don't fight back much then.

"We're talking with noted scientist and tree hunter, Shamus McNeely. How do they defend themselves?"

Well, trees is smart critters. They like to drop on you from above. Most of 'em have spikes. "Branches", they're called, but once you seen a friend impaled on one of 'em, huge amounts of blood coming out, you'll call 'em spikes too.

"Anything else?"

I heard tell that some of 'em are even real smart, people smart. They have their own wierd gods, and they like... sacrifices. Some say their gods even... I don't know the truth of it, but my brother, Halord, he disappeared one night huntin' a Great Oak. We found him three days later, his body tied to a tree carcass he must've just taken, big chunks taken out of his middle. And there were these _splinters_... I cain't talk about it no more. Sometimes I wake up screamin'.

Thank you, Mr. McNeely.