Damn. Time bought at least, that was something.

Once more the treant leans down and sinks it's hands into the earth, this time reaching not for the trees around them but for the water, the underground reservoir that has fed this forest for ages, allowing it to grow and prosper.

So to does it reach for the flames clinging to it's branches, sapping the heat from the fire until it gutters out, taking that spark of warmth and amplifying it a hundred fold before burying it deep underground, working next upon the very bedrock that holds them up.

This is a powerful spell and one that takes a fair bit of time in the doing, but Spreagadh won't be left to her own devices long. Climbing higher into the tree, to the very tallest branches, the dire centipede coils itself and springs down towards the fey, pincers ready to taste blood. The thralled creature is not very good at jumping but height should allow it to reach her, oblivious to the fact it is meant more as a distraction than a true attempt upon her life this time.