“He narrowed his gaze and looked down at the ground, spotting a good sized rock, he picked it up and bounced the weight in his hand, looking back at the trees. Then, without ceremony, flung it into their shadows. The reaction was immediate. Branches twisted, limbs snapped forward like claws, snatching at the stone with frantic hunger. The trees fought each other, scraping and screeching in dry, fibrous snarls. A savage ballet of predators without prey. A curl of grim satisfaction touched his mouth. 'Nasty little fuckers, just like everything else in this place.' And if the trees were this alive… the sprites inside them would be worse”
Book:Make-Believe