Old Yellow… from the Lost Spellweaver

Suddenly Yannuvia realized they were not alone.
A voice entered their minds, “Little Spellweaver, are your hands tired from the boot cleaning?”
Following a loud splash, two large tree roots dangled by them in the babbling waters.
“A tree herder! How did you get here?” Yannuvia asked.
“I wanted to meet the youngsters who sought the experience of seeing the Lone Oak. I tend the Lone Oak, among other things,” the voice answered.
A massive old tree with uprooted roots sat by them. Well, not actually sat, but dangled its thirsty roots in the refreshing waters. The tree herder had only yellow leaves, though they were all manner of hues of yellow. Its truck had such a wide breadth that two adult Drelves would have difficulty reaching around the circumference. Kirrie glanced upward and noted the tree herder was about seven Yardley paces high, or 21 feet in other measurements.
“I know you! You are Old Yellow! I’ve heard the Teacher and Rumsie talk of you! You are amongst our greatest allies. How’d you get to the stream? The path is too narrow. How’d you pull up your roots?” Yannuvia rattled.
“Questions, little one. Too many questions! I do what tree herders do. Old Yellow is not my name, but it’s a moniker I accept. Lots of worse things one could be called,” the tree herder’s voice echoed into their minds.