The Druid: This mama birch is 50 years old, she warns that her children are ahead, and they're not to be trusted. She says...that’s not how she raised them. They're acting like real treenagers.
The Bard: That one was ROUGH.
The Druid: Huh?
The Bard: Like... like bark is rough?
The Druid: They're birch trees.
The Bard: S...So?
The Druid: Birch tree bark is smooth. Like parchment.
The Bard: Oh. Sure... Yeah. Whatever. Your puns are dumb.
The Druid: Nice try, though. Don't give up.