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Sawyer

The lock snaps shut with a satisfying click.

This was it. This would be my shining moment as an environmental activist.

I look out through the trees. The sun is about to rise, and the logging company will soon be here.

The rough bark brushes against my back, reminding me of where I am and what I'm doing here. Chained to a tree.

I run my fingers over the cold metal, tracing the links. The forest is quiet around me, except for the distant sound of birds waking up.

My friends told me I was crazy for doing this. No one else was brave enough to come to the forest alone and face the logging company head-on. Maybe I was crazy, but I'd like to think it was courage. I knew these old fir trees needed protection, and if I had to chain myself to a tree to make it happen, then that's what I'd do.

A few hours of discomfort were nothing compared to the centuries of life that would be lost if the logging company had its way.

The rumbling of machinery grinds through the air. The logging company would be here soon, leaving nothing but stumps in their wake.

A twig snaps behind me, and a gruff voice calls, "What in the hell are you doing?"

I look up and see a man standing a few feet away. He's large and muscular, with a thick beard and worn-out jeans. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his hands are calloused, a sign of a life lived outdoors.

I adjust my position, the chain rattling softly. "I'm saving this tree," I say, meeting his gaze steadily.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly. "You're chained to a tree, lady. Seems to me you're the one who needs saving."

"Lady? Really?" I scoff, leaning back against the tree trunk. "And who are you, the forest's knight in shining armor? And my name is Sawyer."

He chuckles, a deep, resonating sound that seems to echo through the woods. "More like the forest's grumpy old hermit. I'm Byron. And I'm telling you, Sawyer , this is a stupid idea." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a nearby tree, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Well, Byron , stupid or not, it's my idea," I snap. "And I'm sticking to it."

The massive mountain man shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I bet you say that to all the trees."

I rolled my eyes. "Look, I get it. You're a hermit. A mountain man, or whatever. You don't want any trouble. But this is bigger than you or me. This tree, these woods, they've been here for centuries. And those loggers, they're just going to chop it down and leave. There's nothing here for them, nothing they care about."

Byron's expression softens slightly, his gaze drifting up to the towering branches above us. "You're right. This tree, it's something special. But chaining yourself to it isn't going to stop them. They'll just call the Rangers, have you dragged away, and cut it down anyway."

I sigh, looking down at the cold metal links wrapped around my waist. "I know it's a long shot. But maybe, just maybe, if enough people see me here, chained to this tree, they'll understand why it's worth saving. Maybe they'll join me. Maybe something will change."

I look back up at Byron, hoping to see some glimmer of understanding in his eyes. If he was some sort of mountain man hermit, he had to at least care about the forest a little.

He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze turning thoughtful. "You're a persistent one, aren't you?" he mutters, adjusting the thick canvas bag on his shoulder. It looks heavy, but he carries it as if it were nothing.

"When it comes to the things I believe in, yes. Persistence is my middle name." I fire back.

I don't miss how his muscles flex and strain against his plaid shirt. He reminds me of the Brawny paper towel guy, but way hotter and with a beard. My breath hitches when he takes a few steps forward.

"I admire your conviction," he says as the rumble of logging equipment grows closer. "But this won't end well for you."

"Watch me," I say defiantly, pulling my phone out of my fanny pack. I struggle with the chain as I get into a better position.

Byron furrows his brow, watching me start live streaming.

"Hey everyone, it's Sawyer here. I'm up in Darkmore Mountains, defending this historic Douglas fir tree!" I move my phone up to get a better shot of the towering trees around me.

"What are you doing?" my lumberjack companion sighs.

Just as I'm about to respond, two ATVs break through the clearing. Men are astride them, dressed in fluorescent orange vests and hard hats. Loggers.

Byron's body tenses beside me, his hands clenching into fists. I can see the battle raging in his eyes, the struggle between staying out of it and stepping in.

"You should go, Byron," I urge him, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "This isn't your fight."

He shakes his head, a determined set to his jaw. "Like hell, it isn't. This forest is my home. I've lived here since you were in diapers."

Wow, was he really that much older than me? The distracting thought leaves my mind as the ATVs stop a few feet away, the engines idling.

The men dismount, their boots crunching on the forest floor. The largest of them, a man with a thick mustache, approaches us.

"Morning, folks," he drawls, giving us a once-over. "You two lost?"

I stand tall, hands on my hips, the chain clinking softly. "Actually, I'm right where I want to be. This tree is coming down over my dead body."

He chuckles, giving me a patronizing look. I'm used to men looking down on me just because I'm short and round-faced. People see a girl with round eyes and bouncy hair and they just think we're dolls. Not worth listening to.

"You're a feisty one, aren't you? But I'm afraid you'll have to move along. We've got work to do here, and you're in the way," the logger says, his expression darkening.

Byron steps forward, his massive frame blocking the logger from me. "Now, hold on just a second," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "This isn't your land to do with as you please. This is sacred ground."

The logger scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sacred ground, my ass. This is a private forest, and we got a contract to clear this area. Now, I suggest you two step aside before we call the Rangers."

Byron's shoulders tense, and he takes another step closer to the logger. He must be nearly seven feet tall, considering how he towers over the other men. "You think I'm scared of the Rangers? I've lived here longer than most of them have been alive."

The logger snorts, but I see the slight uncertainty in his eyes. "This is a job, pal. Nothing personal."

"Exactly," I chime in, rattling the chains for effect. "And it's my job to make sure that this tree stays standing!”

The man with the mustache sighs and pulls out his cell phone. He gestures to the other loggers and turns away, dialing a number.

I swallow hard. He's not really going to have me removed by the Rangers, right?

I remember my phone in my shaking hand. The livestream has been going on this entire time, and I have over a thousand live viewers.

"Everyone, help save the ancient forest of Darkmore Mountain!" I cry. "I'm not turning this video off until the trees are safe." The chat breaks out in hearts and clapping emojis.

I smile and look over to Byron.

He's gone.