“Roots in the earth, leaves in the clouds, and a memory of seasons passing like dawn and dusk.”

With a patience known only to elves venerating The Forestal, Thyll Hylacae, in the immeasurable span before the Law of Time was imposed, the elves spoke to the trees. Some of the trees listened. Of the awakened trees, the derwic, a handful shook out their limbs and grew into even more ambulatory forms. Long lived as they were, throughout generations after time began, they grew to a new status as guardians of the boundaries of the wodes, and the plants therein. While wode elves tend to see all forests as their domain, the original dryads saw themselves more as partners, as collaborators with the wode and endeavored to impart their values on their saplings.
Dryads have forms as varied as the trees they resemble. Smooth skinned or rough, dark or pale, thin or stout. Seldom seen in cities, even scholars convinced they exist cannot agree whether that is due to their rarity, or because they hold a duty to the wild forests that occupies their collective interests far from “civilization,” or prying eyes. 

On Dryads
Her mouth twisted in what could only be interpreted as a grin, as the leaves of her hair shook lightly, “Technically only the oakform of my kin should be called “dryads,” but yes, that is what we’re called in common parlance, at least in myth.” She turned to Eidior, the wode elf with his mouth agape, “and no, we’re not what you call ‘derwic,’ either. The Forestal had other plans for some of us.”
The tall figure reached up to absentmindedly stroke a sparrow that had perched on her head now that the din had ceased. “I observed how you handled the blighted boar yesterday, and thought you deserved some help seeing as you fought the corruption at its source.” 
Gazing at the bird as it took flight, then the felled demons around the pool, she added, “The forest and I are grateful. Now it can return to the cycle of birth, growth, and reclamation once again.”