----------------------------------------
Morrigan cherished the silver birch grove above all other wooded realms; it was his sanctuary, a place where he had traversed seas to revel in the cooling shadows, to immerse himself in tranquil contemplation. There, among the whispering trees, he would lose himself in a daydream, awash with the ethereal sounds of laughter that seemed to spring forth from another world. With eyes closed, he lent his ear to the cryptic rustlings and the feather-light footsteps that seemed as soft as falling leaves; through these visions, he experienced the unbridled joy that was the essence of this magical grove.
However, just two short days ago, Morrigan's solitude was shattered by the arrival of Valeran and his offspring. He had been blissfully adrift in a sea of dreams within the grove's tender hold as daylight waned into dusk. When finally he stirred from his reveries and began to make his way back to his temporary abode at the local inn, only a brief walk from water’s edge beckoned before him. Yet scarcely had he departed when a trio of towering figures loomed out from where the forest met the shore—three imposing presences whose stature dwarfed those of ordinary folk.
He attempted to offer them a friendly greeting, but his words were met with a heavy hush; they stood unmoving, their expressions twisted into scowls of unfounded malice. As Morrigan reluctantly continued his rowing away from the unsettling encounter, one of Valeran's sons grasped an axe with anger and cut down into one of the majestic birches that lined Morrigan’s path. The tree let out a piercing cry as if it were alive—a sound that expressed not just its own agony but also carried with it the collective mourning of the entire grove.
Morrigan's senses recoiled as if the hatchet's harsh cleaving was tearing into his own flesh.
"Stop this madness!" he bellowed into the tumult. "Halt, you fiends!"
Yet, in flagrant defiance, the aggressor delivered another vicious blow—and Morrigan's eyes bore witness to an expression of hatred so profound, it seemed to etch itself onto the very air. Overcome by a potent fury, his heart thrumming with a lethal intent, Morrigan whipped his vessel around, slicing through the waters back to shore. The incessant sounds of the hatchet's fury pursued him, and as he neared land, the haunting cacophony of fracturing timber reached his ears. Above this chaos, a soft yet sorrowful cry pierced through once more. Morrigan risked a backward glance.
The birch tree swayed precariously before succumbing to its fate. Yet as it fell, an astonishing scene unfolded before Morrigan's eyes. A stalwart fir stood sentinel nearby, and in a breathtaking dance of nature, the birch leaned into the fir as though it were a fainting maiden seeking solace in her guardian's arms. And there it lay, trembling against its companion. Suddenly, a formidable bough from the mighty fir—dislodged by the weight of its fallen comrade—sprang forth with vengeance and delivered a resounding strike to the skull of the hatchet-wielder. The man was cast down instantly by the arboreal defender's crushing retribution.
Apparently, it was just an accident—a branch snapping back after the fall of a birch tree. Yet, the way the branch whipped through the air hinted at something more intentional, seething with rage as though moved by a man's spiteful hand. A shiver of unease skated down Morrigan's back, and his heart skipped a beat.
For a fleeting second, Valeran and his brother stood in silent reverence of the mighty fir tree. It cradled the delicate birch that had collapsed into its embrace, wrapping it up in its pine-scented arms in an intimate tableau that made Morrigan think of a damsel wounded in battle, seeking solace in her knight’s protective hold. They couldn't look away, mesmerized by the scene.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Subsequently, without uttering a single word but with their faces twisted in similar expressions of bitter contempt, they stopped dead in their tracks. They gathered their injured comrade with careful urgency. With his limbs draped over their shoulders like frayed ropes, they marched off—his form as lifeless as a shattered willow wand.
----------------------------------------
On the chilly morning, Morrigan found himself ensconced on the inn's balcony, his mind tirelessly replaying the recent events; he dwelt upon the human-like drama enfolding between the birch with its sorrow and the fir with its relentless quest for retribution. In the scant 48 hours that had elapsed, an increasingly palpable agitation had taken root amongst the trees, their clandestine murmurs escalating to fervent hisses.
What secret were they so frantic to reveal? Which course of action were they entreating him to embark upon?
He was spellbound, his gaze locked onto the enigmatic expanse of Lake Obscura, as he sought to unveil what lay concealed within the veils of the fog-bound opposite bank. With startling clarity, it seemed as though the small woodland grove itself was extending an invitation just for him, luring his consciousness with a force as compelling as a magnet drawing a wayfarer's compass needle inexorably toward true north.
The grove sent out its silent siren call, imploring him to approach closer.
Without a moment's doubt, Morrigan answered the mysterious beckoning; he stood up, his feet leading him with purpose down to the dock. Stepping onto his skiff, he commenced an intrepid journey across the lake. The rhythmic stroke of his oars against the tranquil water soothed his spirit, trading his once burdening worries for a cloak of calm and a feeling of being mysteriously uplifted.
Swaddled in the silvery embrace of the fog, the lake took on the appearance of an otherworldly expanse. In the stillness where not a single breath of air stirred, the mist moved as if alive, twisting and flowing with grace as though directed by unseen spectral forces.
Alive with energy, the mists danced around him, crafting themselves into magnificent castles with translucent walls that shimmered as he glided by; they molded themselves into rolling hills and expansive plains with surfaces smooth like satin. Through these ethereal figures danced beams of light, twisting into rainbows that flirted through the fog, casting kaleidoscopic reflections on the water's surface that spread and bloomed like celestial offerings poured out from an unseen chalice.
Suddenly, Morrigan found himself immersed in an illusory realm where distances seemed immeasurable—the mist-cast hills turned into looming mountains; valleys morphed into deep ravines. He was navigating through a fantastical land condensed into a microcosm of magic. Out from beneath seemingly materialized a trout, breaking through the surface like a leviathan emerging from unfathomable depths. Prismatically bathed in rainbows, it arched before melting into a cascade of gem-like sparkles—a ballet of twinkling diamonds frolicking with azure sapphires, fervent rubies embracing pearls embalmed in rose. With nary a sound, the fish plunged back beneath the waves; its jeweled companions followed suit; all that remained was a fleeting swirl of color marking where both fish and radiance had momentarily danced.
An eerie hush dominated the surroundings. He stopped paddling and leaned in, surrendering to the current. Amidst the stillness, he felt an otherworldly passageway open before him, leading to a realm beyond the veil of visibility.
Then, out of nowhere, voices emerged. At first, they were mere whispers that sneaked into his ears—an ensemble gently warming up in the background. But swiftly they grew into a cacophony of enchantment; women's voices weaving a melodic spell, intertwining effortlessly with the deep and rhythmic incantations of men. Together, they created an anthem of extreme emotions—a tapestry of sound rich in joy and echo with traces of despair and beneath it all, a fiery undertone of rage. It was as if legendary beings from the netherworld diligently spun threads that glowed like the sun's first rays, intertwined with the dark strands of twilight and infused with the passion of a blazing sunset.