The Dying Trees [open source interactive story] start here

It is a beautiful, warm day.

You're wearing shorts and a t-shirt and are hiking through a dense pine forest. The path curves around a stunning lake. The green blue of the water looks cool and refreshing, so you take off your backpack and jump into the water, clothes and all and go for a swim. While you're in the water, you notice that the trees lining the lake don't look as green as the ones that you passed when you entered the forest several miles ago. You get out of the water and wait for the sun to dry you. As you do, you munch on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich you'd packed earlier and look more closely at the trees. They have spikes on them, like this:

You know that some trees, like the floss silk, grow thorns naturally, but this isn't a floss silk, it's a pine tree. You reach out to feel one of the spikes. Even though you're careful not to touch the sharp point, you feel a prick as you touch the wood. You pull your hand back quickly and look at it. There's no injury that you can see, but you suck on your finger to soothe it even so.

As you alternately suck on your finger and take bites of your sandwich, you look more closely at the tree where you touched it. The tree is a living green-brown right there, but the surrounding bark is a dull, unhealthy grey.

Suddenly, you notice a movement out of the corner of your eye. Something darted from behind the tree you're examining to near where you left your backpack. You hurry over to the backpack, but find that you're too late. The backpack is open, empty, and there's a hole in the bottom of it. You hear an odd chuckling sound coming from the upper branches of the tree you had been examining. Looking up, you can see your copy of the book Identifying Wild Edibles in the hands of a creature the likes of which you've never seen before. It has legs and arms and hands and feet like a human, but it's only about twice the height of your book. It has greenish brown skin and a nest of tangled grey hair. Covering its skin are thorns like the ones on the trees. It chuckles and sighs, looking at you with dark soil brown eyes.

It begins to tear the pages out of your book one by one. Each tear is punctuated by a chuckle. Your clothes are still soaking wet, and your finger is in your mouth. What do you do?