She's suddenly next to him, not looking at him though. "Can we do this without Puck?"

He watches the two silently, laying back down.

Ash is silent as he follows the dryads to the base of a single oak tree, its branches so draped in moss, it looked like it was hung with moldy curtains. Grimalkin was already there. The bark rippled, and an ancient woman stepped out of the tree. Her skin was flaked, like wrinkled bark, and her long hair was the brownish-green of old moss. She was stooped and bent, covered in a robe of lichens that shivered with thousands of insects and spiders. Her face resembled a walnut, lined and wrinkled, and when she moved her joints creaked like branches in the wind. And yet, her beady eyes were sharp and clear as she looked the group over and beckoned to Lin.

Lin steps forward.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice rustling like dry leaves. "You are the daughter of Oberon, the one whom the wind whispers about. I know why you are here. You seek the Iron King, yes? You wish to find the entrance into his realm."

The kitsune rolls his eyes, obviously a bit annoyed by the statement. Lin nods.

She stays silent, crouching on a branch, hidden by the shade of it.

"And Ethan. As you are, you will not be able to save him," the Elder told her. "The Iron King waits for you in his lair of steel. He knows you are coming, and you will not be able to stop him. No weapon forged by mortal or fey can harm the Iron King. He fears nothing."

Ash stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully. "Elder," he murmured, "we were told you might know the secret to slaying the Iron King."
The ancient dryad regarded him solemnly. "Yes, young prince," she whispered. "You heard true. There is a way to kill Machina and end his reign. You need a special weapon, one that cannot be forged with tools, something as natural as a flower growing in the sunlight."
Ash leaned forward eagerly. "Where can we find this weapon?"
The Elder Dryad sighed, and seemed to shrink in on herself. "Here," she murmured, looking back at the great oak, her voice tinged with sadness. "The weapon you require is Witchwood, from the heart of the most ancient of trees, as deadly to Machina as iron is to the normal fey. A living wood containing the spirit of nature and the power of the natural earth--a bane to the faeries of progress and technology. Without it, you cannot hope to defeat him and save the human child."
Ash fell silent, his face grim.

She sighs sadly.

She sits on the branch, getting more comfortable. She kept her palms faced down on the tree, feeling the life inside of it flow past her palms as it continued through the tree.