Francis and Marta led them to a small house at the far end of the wood. After the villagers had been served a cool and fragrant beverage, Girard leaned forward against the stout wooden table.
"We are here to cut trees," boomed the Village Master. "We are prepared to pay a fair price."
Marta replied with a voice that was kind, yet firm. "We cannot sell these trees."
Louis felt a troubling mixture of disappointment and relief, torn between wanting to save the cathedral and wanting to save this forest. He walked over to a window, and propped his elbows on the sill as the elders continued to talk.
"And why not?" asked Girard. His voice began to show frustration, then anger. "We need them, and we need them now."
Francis answered slowly. "Sir, for over a dozen generations, the Caretakers have looked after these trees. They are not to be cut by anyone, for any reason."
