She tries to talk her way out of the inspection

“I’m an authorized forest ambassador on hero business!” Velvet Vixen declares with all the conviction of someone who has absolutely made that up on the spot.

For a moment, there’s silence.

The ancient, animate trees all lean in just slightly, creaking ominously. One with what looks like a bark-engraved monocle squints.

“That sounds… made up,” grumbles the sycamore with the moss beard.

“Very made up.”

“Hero business, she says. Hmph! Like we haven't heard that one before.”

“Another cape-draped deviant trespassing on sovereign timberland!”

“INFLICTING UNLICENSED STYLE ON SACRED ROOTS!” booms another.

Before she can backpedal, the branches and roots twist closer, poking and prodding—not hurting, but definitely not respectful of personal space.

“Let’s inspect the gear,” one declares.

But as gnarled branches tug at her gloves, try to flip the hem of her skirt, and definitely mess with her cape, her boots remain stubbornly in place. Every tug on one heel is met with a creak of frustration and a:

“She’s double-buckled! DIABOLICAL!”

“Oh-ho, crafty one!”

Velvet Vixen squirms and flails—spinning slowly in place from the tension of the rope—her mask sliding sideways, a streak of glitter smearing across her cheek.

“Would you all stop?! This is very inappropriate and wildly unprofessional!”

The trees collectively grumble.

“WE’RE PROFESSIONALS!” barks the maple indignantly.

“She’s clearly a threat. Could be concealing cursed seeds! Or enchanted garments!”

“Or hiding city contracts in those gloves!”

Branches draw closer. One of them pokes her mask.

“Remove the disguise! Show us your true bark!”

Velvet Vixen gasps. “Over my fashionable dead body!”