Ash Down

As the Old Oak and Willow stormed across the forest groves, singing the trees from their slumber and their bindings to the earth, the Ash stood alone in a hollow, filled with smoke and ruin. Miraculously unscathed by the fire that had raged around him but maddened and bitter at the destruction it had wrought. Even had he known how, the Ash could not escape the hollow. On every side the fallen, blackened trees smoldered, smoked and flared with an angry red as if of many eyes sparking in the obsidian ruin. As his leaves and bark became befouled with the scent of smoke, the Ash wept and raged in helplessness, and could do naught but wait.

Meanwhile ...

The Old Oak and Willow, having forged the river and escaped the flames, now strode across the land, singing to the trees, calling them to rise, awake, come to the aid of their brothers and sisters, and end the travesty the humans created.

To the humans, it was as though the land and the old stories had risen up from myth and come to life. The very forest seemed to swell and spring into motion, sounds not heard in centuries rippling out across the land as roots and earth and stone separated, and the trees walked again.

"Where are we going?" asked Willow of the the Old Oak as they strode through the valley along the river. "To see if there are any more of our brethren who survived across the river and to call the land back to life. Our time as sentinels has come to an end. It is time to walk the land once more. The humans have broken the Pact. Now they must learn how to fend without the trees," growled the Old Oak angrily in response.

And so, through the smoke-filled valley, a sea of rustling green and crackling, groaning bark seemed to flow over the land, growing ever wider as the Song of the Trees breathed new life and knowledge into the trees, young and old alike.

Across the river, in the ashen and smoke-filled hollow, the Ash continued to weep and rage, hopeless. Yet, as the wind began to swirl and bluster through the barren hollow, he heard a sound that made him pause. "What was that?" he thought to himself. "What did I just hear? A sound, on the wind. Was I mistaken?" And he strained to listen, to hear that sound again over the crackle and hiss of the fading fire. "There!" He heard it again! It was a sound never heard in his lifetime, an ancient song that pulled at his roots and caused his leaves to rustle in anticipation. The air in the hollow seemed to still as if waiting, before suddenly swirling and blowing, bringing the sound of the song clearly to the Ash. As the wind brushed along the Ash's trunk and rustled through his leaves, his very being was filled with the knowledge carried in its sound and with a jubilant roar he called out to the others across the river. Crying out that he was "Here! Here!" Wait for me! I am coming too!

The Ash was the last survivor of the devastating fire of Evervale. Out of the destruction and ruin of the forest, few survived to tell the tale of what happened that day. The Ash and the Old Oak and the Willow lead the trees from that valley; away over the mountains and across the Plains. The humans, who in their foolishness and carelessness had cause the Fire of Evervale watched in awe and fear as the forest crackled and groaned away, gradually fading into the West. They would, once again, have to learn to fend for themselves, to forage from the barren plains, and learn to live without the shelter and protection of the trees.

The stories that are told, passed from generation to generation, are that, should the humans be humble and contrite for the damage they caused, one day, the trees might choose to return and breathe life into the Plains once more. Tales are told of the Willow, who, travelling with the Old Oak and the Ash, finally learnt how she came to be on that river bank, surrounded by oaks. It was the Old Oak, himself, who placed her there.

In the time before, when the trees first settled in that place, some chose not to remain. The willows. They wished for warmer climes and damper air. However, before leaving, they placed Willow in the care of the Old Oak; saying that one of their kind should remain as a reminder. That should the day come that the trees strode the land once more, the willows would be waiting, far to the West and the South. And, should they so chose, they could rejoin their brethren once more, and Willow would be returned to her own.

So she was, and so the story goes.

*Author's Note*

As a girl, my mother read us J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings." for our bedtime story. One chapter each night. I loved it. Out of the entire story, what captured my imagination was not the Elves, or the Dragon, or the Hobbits, or the Wizards; it was the trees. The idea that the trees were alive and stood watch. Acted as shepards and protectors of their own. To my young mind that was the most fascinating thing of all. I would spend days out in the trees, going from one to the next, poking and proding and talking, hoping for a response or a movement. I didn't know the difference between fact and fiction at that age, but I like to think that there is some truth in all stories and that each created world has a life of its own. These three short stories are my attempt to express some of my own world, from a younger time. I hope you enjoy reading them :)