The troll froze, clinging to the tree. The humans had surprised him. Shaking with fear, he pressed himself tighter against the bark and willed the humans not to see him. He was terrified of humans. He’d heard they built bridges and roads they charged other humans a toll to cross. Barbaric! Trolls had given that up a century or so ago.
The moss maidens wove all night, making a shaggy shelter for the lost and orphaned children at the foot of the forest’s loneliest tree. In the morning soft sunlight flickered on the dewy moss when they awoke, amazed to have found themselves a home at last.
The forest was filled with scrolls of age-old magic, but no one remembered how to read them. They languished in their secrecy, decaying unread into the soil. There the rootlets ate their forgotten words and grew great trees filled with ancient magic they fed us in the air.
The knight, lost out of time and space, wandered the forest without reprieve, leaving a trail of folklore in his wake. When his armour grew rusty, he covered himself in the bark of a birch and it preserved him, forever lost and looking, though for what I cannot say.
The tree sat down in the swing, feeling uneasy. Trees were the ones that held swings, not the ones doing the swinging, but the boy insisted he try it. The tree lifted up its roots and let go of the earth just for a moment and soared through the air on the swing. It gulped and stopped, eager to feel the reassuring weight of the earth on its roots again. It was good to try new things, but once was enough for this tree.
copyright Jennifer Shelby
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Jennifer Shelby 