Cross stopped short and stared at the tree. He'd quite simply never seen anything like it, and he never could have imagined it. He stood, his arms loaded with fellwood as if its weight were nothing, blinking at the leaves and the vines and the incredibly thick branches. A frown formed between his eyebrows, and there was no telling how long he would have stood there if he hadn't nearly dropped a piece from the bottom of his armload. That shook him out of it, and he asked, "Where you want this?"