BY JAMES ATTWOOD
Day by day the encroaching winter truly set in. A thin sheen of ice laid across the surface of the pond behind Arfryn, placing the koi below in an enormous naturally formed fish tank. Grey clouds loomed most mornings, threatening bouts of hail to further desaturate the view. Yet amidst all this the grand old oak tree that leaned over the edge across from the house appeared to have a new lease on life.
Its branches were almost bare when the Elderkin’s had arrived earlier in the week, yet new sprigs of life sprung from its bark as each day passed. Zoe noted the unusual change first, a budding gardener after her father. Merfyn had tended to it for decades ever since Derwen insisted they planted it from an acorn she found under an oak tree in Caerfyrddin. It was so that she could bring a piece of her home from the South with her to North Wales. Of all the trees Merfyn had tended to it was the most significant, not only because of this, but in its own right as well. Its grandeur far outmatched its age, stretching up to impressive heights he’d doubted his grandchildren would live to see let alone himself. Nonetheless after all these years he’d grown used to dismissing the oddity of this oak to it ‘having a mind of its own’. Zoe agreed, even if she wasn’t satisfied with her usual dendrophile of a father brushing off the subject. A mother of three imaginative children, she was always one to entertain the notion of the fantastical if not believe it outright, and the air of mysticism that surrounded this tree was undeniable.
The family’s mood had settled somewhat, fewer tears were shed with each passing day, placated by the comfort that having each other nearby provided. The children took solace in distracting themselves with play. Orson shadowed Fred and Hope as they ran around, savouring the chance to play tag with others closer to his age though he never neglected a chance to keep Cooper involved. His red, rosy cheeks stood out on his pale face as he rushed to keep up with the spry Fred. Even though Fred was small for his age Orson would fall and fumble trying to keep pace with his nimble cousin, though he never showed any sign of relenting. Hope tugged at Maeve’s arm periodically, her blonde waist length hair next to her sister’s dark auburn locks further solidifying the night and day divide between them. Maeve had shared Hope’s outlook as a youngster, ever cheery and willing to laugh. However, where Hope was brimming with confidence and direct, Maeve was always shy, and this shyness had formed a shell around her of late.
“C’mon Maeve, you can read that later!” Hope reasoned, her patience waning thin as she’d been through this with her for what had felt like all year. Maeve neglected to raise her head from the Mabinogi, mumbling that she’d join in after this page.
“Leave her be honey. Go on, Orson needs help catching Fred.” Zoe wandered over and sat next to Maeve on the garden bench. Hope ran to the others, her disappointed huffing dropping quickly when her uncles Lewis and Idris joined in the chase. Zoe shuffled in closer to show interest in what she was reading then spoke softly as to not disturb her. “Try and make time for them too Maeve, we’re all going through the same thing here.”
Maeve held her silence for a while. “I know, I just wish they were as interested in these as I am. It’s like having her with me, reading these again.” She rested the book on her lap, albeit taking care to keep a finger on the line she was reading.
“I understand, I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you.” Zoe placed an arm around Maeve’s shoulder. Sat side by side like this the two embodied a mother and daughter, but the older Maeve grew the less alike they appeared. Maeve had shot up and shared Fred’s slender build, standing just a touch taller than her mother. She was less concerned with her appearance than most teenagers, fashioning herself as she pleased in what felt comfortable with little regard for what other girls thought of her.
This free spirit certainly reminded Zoe of herself. Though now in her late thirties, motherhood, she felt, had matured her beyond it. Almost by necessity her responsible side had been pushed to the forefront nowadays. She tried to steer the talk to a middle ground Maeve might find appealing, “Don’t forget the others didn’t get quite the same treatment as you, you were the first grandchild. Your grandma couldn’t put you down for the first years of your life, but they never had those moments to themselves. Maybe they would be just as interested if you showed them, gave them a chance. Tell me, what story are you reading now?”
“It’s the first branch, my second time going through this week.” Maeve explained sheepishly, almost embarrassed to be admitting to it. “It’s about a guy called Pwyll who accidentally offends Arawn, the ruler of Annwn.”
“Annwn?”
“Yeah, it’s like the hell in Celtic mythology, I think anyway. It changes.” She creased her face exaggerating her confusion but continued the tale. “Either way there’s a mix up with their hunting dogs about who this stag belongs to and Pwyll promises to make it up to Arawn. So Arawn demands they swap places for a year to rule their own respective kingdoms. Sounds bad but it works out really well, Pwyll ends up solving a lot of Arawn’s problems and they become good friends. It’s pretty cool.”
“Huh, that is cool...well there you go! Trade places with Hope and Fred, little Orson too. They might surprise you. If it worked out for the devil it’s bound to work out for a teenage girl from Wales.” Zoe nudged Maeve with her elbow teasing her.
“He’s not the devil!” She protested despite cracking a smile. It reminded her of Merfyn’s advice however, almost triggering a small epiphany in her. She folded the corner of the page delicately before closing the book and passing it to her mother. “Fiiine. Hold on to this.”
Zoe was contented with having got through to her. She held the belief that there was never a defining moment when raising a child, but these little victories added up in the long run. Raymond sat next to her, readjusting his beanie to keep his balding head warm.
“I don’t know how you did it but well done.” He congratulated her. Raymond was a traditional father in a way, warm but strict when needed. He’d never had trouble connecting with any of his three until recently, as he found Maeve’s reclusiveness of late becoming ever more difficult to get his head around. They were both strong minded individuals and any attempt to get through to her often ended in arguments these days, so he deferred to his better half to avoid such confrontations. Seeing Maeve up and running around with her family reminded him of the little girl he’d raised, and of why he married Zoe in the first place. Zoe rested her head on his shoulder and they both enjoyed the view whilst it lasted.
The day had been a positive one. The family had come together a week ago to mourn their loss, and in doing so had propped each other up. They slept well that night, all except for Merfyn. He tossed and turned for hours, obsessing over memories of his late wife. The oak in particular had roused his interest. Despite ignoring it earlier he found himself speculating as to why it was thriving now. He grew so frustrated that he had to calm himself down. Gelert sprang to life and trotted after him down the stairs. He sat in the dark of the living room with the dog at his feet, whiskey in one hand and his head in the palm of the other. His thoughts weighed heavily upon him, his mind racing as it tried to make sense of it all. Soon the sun will be rising he thought, why can’t I sleep?
Upstairs someone else was also about to have their night disturbed. In the room where all the children slept, except for Cooper who was snug in his cot, a curious tapping could be heard. Maeve began to stir as she heard the periodic taps, almost in a sequence, ringing on the window above where her head lay. She peered up slowly, wary of what she might see. What she did see however astounded her.
A tawny owl stood outside the window, lightly pecking the glass almost methodically. Once she’d seen it the owl locked eyes with her and began to flap its wings and bob its head in unison, as if it were trying to communicate silently. Maeve mustered some courage as she went to open the latch, watching the owl look intently with excitement at what she was doing. This wasn’t like her at all, she would have much preferred to wake her parents or ignore the bird entirely, but in that moment she felt special. It was her window the owl had chosen, and the discretion with which it had done so made her feel as if it was calling to her and her alone. She’d felt foolish for her moment of fantasy, but as soon as she’d opened the window the owl swooped in and landed silently by the door, bobbing its head once more towards the hallway. She’d never seen an owl like this before, wild and up close. Its mottled brown feathers were scruffy and windswept, but as it locked eyes with her again she felt an almost human connection. Scepticism be damned she thought, that owl is talking to me.
Downstairs Merfyn had all but given up on making sense of what was racking his mind, instead reclining in his chair hoping to get what precious winks of sleep he could. Before he could close his eyes however he caught sight of Maeve skulking in the hallway. He arched his head forwards in disbelief, trying to make sense of what he saw her following. An owl? Really? Then again, he’d barely had a moments rest all night, perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. He attempted to call to her in a whisper but wasn’t heard. Hands pressed on the arms of his chair he stood himself up and tapped Gelert’s side, “Come on boy, let’s see what she’s up to.”. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that the front door was ajar, the bitter cold now creeping in. Confusion was quickly replaced by concern, what was she doing?
On the floor of the spare bedroom Hope had been awoken by an encroaching chill. Disgruntled, she sat up and surveyed the room, noticing an open window and no sign of her sister. She took a brief moment to assess the wild theories that ran through her head before taking appropriate action. The loud zip of a coat woke Fred, who was most perplexed by what he saw.
“What are you doing?” He asked as he rubbed his eyes. It was too early for this.
“Maeve’s jumped out the window, so I’m going to get her. Go back to sleep.” Hope explained as a matter of fact. She was doing up the toggles of her thick winter coat, now fully dressed for the outdoors.
There was a long pause before Fred replied, “What?” Bizarre behaviour was the norm for his sister he thought, but this was a new level of bizarre. She seemed intent though, so he unzipped his sleeping bag and began to change as well. Something else puzzled him, “Shouldn’t we tell mum and dad?”
“You heard them talking to her before, she’s just not taking all of this very well. You know Maeve, she’s probably just sat outside being dramatic so we shouldn’t get her in even more trouble...” Hope’s empathetic reasoning trailed off before indulging a small addendum, “Yet.”
“I’m coming to help her too.” Orson stretched and began to dress himself with his favourite outfit.
“I don’t think you-how long have you been awake?” Hope abruptly changed her tone, confused as she could’ve sworn his eyes were closed the entire time. She began to worry about her plan now that her cousin was aboard. Orson was always sure of himself and his abilities, but she wasn’t keen on being responsible for him without adult supervision.
“A little while. I didn’t want to interrupt your discussion.” Orson explained, still worn out but rousing himself to accompany them nonetheless. His impressive vocabulary didn’t faze the others at this point, always having been incredibly well spoken when he wanted to be. In a flash he was ready to go, standing proud despite the weight of the large backpack he’d thrown on. “But if you’re both going to help Maeve I’m going too.”
Hope and Fred were dumbfounded by his preparedness. They still saw him as a child, prone to tantrums as any ten-year-old would be, but this was just one of the many moments they felt there was a super intelligent adult hiding within him. Perhaps events had snowballed, but Hope decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Fine you can come with, but we’re not going far.”
Outside Maeve was beginning to doubt herself. The pitch black of night had barely begun to fade in these early hours and the only thing she could make out in the dim light was the owl leading her on. It guided her haphazardly, walking along for one stretch and then fluttering off for the next, never too far from her yet always out of reach. She’d dressed herself for the outdoors quietly before following her unorthodox guide, yet even with her coat on she felt entirely exposed. Anxiety began to set in but was assuaged by the familiar sight of her destination. It felt like she’d been following it for longer in the darkness however the owl had led her to the old oak tree that was some twenty yards or so from the house. Even in the dark the oak was noticeably more verdant than before, green leaves now whistling in the sea breeze. The owl fluttered up to the branches above and perched, gazing down at Maeve still. She stood there in silence, pondering why it might have led her here.
She was not alone, however. A strange man walked out from behind the tree’s broad trunk. As he stepped forward Maeve held her breath in fear, aghast at his appearance. The moonlight caught his brutish face, chiselled features and a wild red beard cutting through the shadow. Deep scars cleaved their way across his bare skin like jagged rivers across an arid landscape. His eyes shone a warm yet piercing orange as if a flame had been lit within. What struck Maeve most of all however was his archaic attire. Thick leather padding was clad around his chest and forearms, intertwined with patterned cloth and a ghoulish wolf skin cape that hung around his shoulders. Even a sheathed sword hung from his hip. His entire being appeared almost to have been burnt, the corners of his garments and tips of his hair curled where they were scorched and blackened.
“You don’t look special...” He mused, slowly approaching closer. His voice could be heard clearly yet his jaw didn’t budge. Even though a scruffy moustache curtained his lips Maeve could’ve sworn he wasn’t opening his mouth at all. “You sure you have the right place?” He looked up to the owl, raising a thick eyebrow in doubt. It bobbed its head shyly before backing into the leaves. Unimpressed, he looked Maeve up and down. “I guess you’ll do.” His words lingered in the air, the gravelly drawl of his accent unmistakably Welsh yet foreign at the same time.
Maeve was frozen to the spot, her lips quivering as she spoke out hesitantly, “Who are you?” She caught her tongue as soon as she had asked the question, regretting drawing any more attention to herself.
“It speaks!” The man exclaimed with veiled enthusiasm. He clasped his hands together, running his callous fingers through one another. “Never you mind who I am, it’s you that’s oh so important.” He’d casually inched his way to Maeve and slapped a hand down on her shoulder, in it she noticed he gripped a length of rope.
Maeve, mortified, had to think of what she could do. “My whole family are home; all I have to do is scream and they’ll-”
“But you won’t, will you. You won’t scream, you won’t run, you won’t. Try. Anything.” The strangers every word began to chill her to the bone as he spoke directly into her ear, lips still unmoving. He began to loop the rope around her waist, tying it into a sophisticated knot. He stood upright and tugged on the rope, a malicious grin conveying the pride he took in this. “You won’t because the things I would do to them would scar you for life. You’d still be tied to my arm, yet your family would be no more, and you would live a life of regret. You understand me girl?”
Maeve felt helpless, all she could do was stare at her captor in defiance as tears welled in her eyes.
“Get your hands off her!” Merfyn’s voice echoed behind her. He stood in his dressing gown, Gelert snarling at his side. Short of stature and visibly chilled, Merfyn was far from ready for a confrontation at this hour, but his face told a different story. That of a man determined to save his granddaughter. Maeve closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she considered what to do next, relief washed over her at first, yet her captor’s warning still rang in her mind. Without further hesitation however she turned on her heel and ran towards her grandfather screaming his name. Before she could make it halfway the rope pulled taut as the man yanked her backwards, doubling her over as she was snapped to the floor. As she lay in the dirt she caught sight of Hope, Fred and Orson taking cover behind the corner of the house. Hope held Fred and Orson behind her as best she could though the shock of seeing her sister in this predicament had paralysed her. Their eyes met across the yard, the short distance between them feeling like an impassable gulf.
“I can’t believe my eyes; I was told you had a part in this old man but to protect these whelps in this foreign land? Rather unbecoming of one such as yourself.” The man began to ramble in disbelief but soon focused himself with renewed fervour, as if Merfyn’s appearance had upped the stakes. “Then again I thought you’d be more impressive. I’m disappointed.”
“I don’t know who you think I am, but we are not who you’re looking for. Leave this house!” Merfyn bellowed, his voice carrying an impressive distance into the dark. The man’s menacing and peculiar speech didn’t faze him, the situation was too dire for him to give in to such adversity. He began to pace towards Maeve, unaware of the children behind him.
“One step closer and I’ll end you.” He drew his sword, pointing it at Merfyn as he spoke. The length of the blade ran pitch black in contrast to the ivory white hilt, even though a covering of soot had dulled the shine. “Play coy all you want. I see the branch you so poorly hide on your finger.” He held a small branch up in his other hand, its bark glowing an ethereal blue. “I know who you are, I know what you can do. No tricks will fool me, no magic will harm me. The girl comes with me.”
Merfyn hesitated as he looked down at his left hand. The wooden inlay of his wedding ring was aglow with that very same blue light. The questions that had plagued him earlier vanished, replaced with a burning focus on this phenomenon. Maeve couldn’t believe her eyes, who was her grandfather? Merfyn said nothing, his expression offering no answers either. He looked lost in the chaos of it all until he looked to Maeve with renewed purpose.
Roaring Gelert’s name into the hill’s he made a dash for her, the faithful hound streaming ahead. Before the stranger could intercept, Gelert had leapt at him, sinking his fangs deep into his sword arm. Blood streamed down the white patches of the dog’s coat as he refused to let go, the man struggling to keep his footing as he thrashed at him. Merfyn knelt next to Maeve, short of breath as he hurried to free her. Loosening the knot was proving too difficult however, her panicked movements alongside his light headedness exacerbating his attempts. Ahead of them the man had managed to grip Gelert’s mane and threw him aside, a desperate yelp ringing out as the dog struck the side of the oak and fell limp next to it. Merfyn gave up on the rope and stared squarely into Maeve’s eyes to resolutely assure her, “Everything’s going to be alright.”
He threw an arm around her and together they stood up and began to run for the house. Neither looked back, keeping their focus solely on the safety ahead. Few steps were made before Maeve tripped forwards and overtook her grandfather who had stopped abruptly. She looked back to see him hunched over, the end half of a blade piercing through his gut. In anguish he looked down at the wound, his own blood shining on that blackened sword point. The stranger pulled the sword back out leaving Merfyn to fall to the ground, silent and motionless. Maeve tried to cry out yet was overcome with sadness, bawling pitiable tears as she whimpered, “No, grandad. No, no.”
She tried to crawl over to him on her hands and knees but was hoisted off the ground by the rope, back into the grasp of her pursuer. “I told you what would happen.” he reminded her, his rising cheeks framing a sinister smile, before dragging her towards the oak tree. Try as she might to struggle free, she couldn’t, what she had just witnessed drained her of any spirit. But she could still see her siblings, cousin in tow, on the move.
“What is happening? Is grandad dead!?” Orson was beginning to regret having joined them as their rescue mission became a living nightmare. They’d sneaked around the perimeter of the front yard during the struggle and were crouched by the bushes that ran round behind the oak.
Hope shushed him, even more so in shock now than she was before, “I don’t know!” She felt bad for having snapped when she saw his little face, devoid of all surety he had in their room. “I don’t know okay. But we have to help Maeve, we can’t just leave her.”
Fred was ahead, trying as he might to assess what they should do. He had almost turned and ran to wake the others when he saw the oak tree begin to glow. The man had touched the branch he held against its surface and now crooked runes began to emerge from its bark. Each one lit up with the same blue light of the branch as the tree twisted itself into something new. The point where the branch had touched split in two, creaking violently as it opened into the shape of a doorway. The tree was lit up in its entirety now, each and every leaf a ghostly blue above the ominous door. Within a thick fog obscured what lay beyond, spilling out yet never clearing. Branch safely tucked into his belt, he placed his free hand on the arch of the opening and pulled Maeve to his side.
“Time to go.” With that a flame began to course up the fresh scar on his arm, giving his skin the appearance of the crust atop a lake of lava. Not only did the intensity of the heat set the bark he touched aflame, but it also appeared to melt away the bite marks Gelert had left across his forearm. Once the fire had taken hold he pulled the arm back, the effect reducing to embers to reveal his wound had been healed. Then with one more tug, the two disappeared through the doorway, consumed by the fog.
The fire began to spread quickly across the tree, turning it into a bewitching pyre. Fred felt the clock ticking. He had no idea where that door led, how to open it or how it worked. But it was now up in flame, their opportunity for pursuit was burning away.
“We have to go now!” He shouted back to the others.
“Into that? How? We have to get mum and dad!” Hope began to accost her brother with questions, beginning to panic like Orson who’s hand she held, himself in a frightened stupor.
“It’s our only chance, if the tree burns who knows if we’ll ever see Maeve again!” He repeated himself, trying to make sense of this situation as best he could, pointing at their closing window to save their sister.
The predicament weighed heavily on Hope. In the back of her mind she knew Fred would make a go for it, on the other hand she’d allowed poor Orson to come with them. Could she face abandoning him to follow Maeve? Could she live with herself if she abandoned Maeve to keep them from sharing the same fate? Her grip loosened on her cousin’s hand as she ruefully made her decision, “I’m so sorry Orson, we have to go! Tell mum and dad what happened...tell them we’re sorry...”
Orson was left shaken as his cousins began to run towards the burning tree. The blaze appeared to engulf them as they got closer, the blinding heat of the inferno dominating his vision. He could just make out the two inspecting the fog, Fred testing it with trepidation. Every inch of his being told him to run to his parents, but he was here and they weren’t. The window was closing, Fred had said as much. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his coat and ran towards the tree.
Merfyn’s breath grew weak, he now laid on his back, the crackling of fire no doubt his home burning around him. He’d lift his head to look yet his body was unresponsive, all he could do was look up at the fading stars of the night sky. His only comfort was the warmth he felt from Gelert, he couldn’t see him, but he knew it was his dog who had curled up beside him. With each heavy blink the contrast of the sky grew lighter, obscuring those constellations that had been a lifelong fascination of his. The next time he opened his eyes the owl stood over him, its enormous eyes mirroring his face. From what he could make out in the reflection he looked truly worse for wear; this is it he thought. With that acceptance the owl’s visage seemed to shift and for the briefest of moments he could have sworn he was looking at a human woman.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to be like this.” It whispered.
“Dad!? DAD!” Zoe shrieked across the yard. The owl was startled, its form returning to normal as it took off in a flurry of feathers that fell to Merfyn’s chest as flower petals.
Most of the family had been awoken by the commotion. Zoe was the first to emerge from the front door and rushed to her father, barely acknowledging the owl in her panic. Raymond was right behind her but was taken aback by the raging fire. Lewis and Cara ran up next to him, barely awake until they caught sight of Orson’s backpack following what looked like Hope and Fred into the base of the tree. Cara yelled out for him to no avail as Raymond and Lewis rushed towards them. Smoke clouded their eyes as they approached closer, the intensity of the heat becoming a wall between them and their children.
“Watch out!” Raymond called to Lewis, holding his shoulder as a branch came crashing down before them. They were mere steps from the children before the opening of the tree began to close, its scorched bark pulling together like curtains across what was already a veiled vision of their children. They kept running only to hit up against the solid face of the trunk, reformed without any sign of a seam. Its surface was still hot to the touch but the two kept thrashing at it, yelling out in vain.
Zoe found it difficult to speak. She knew her children were missing, she’d checked an empty room on her way out, but her father now laid on death’s door before her. “What happened dad? Dad!? What do I do? Dad? Dad please...” She couldn’t form any coherent sentences, merely uttering what she could in the hopes that her father could offer the right answer as he always had. This time he couldn’t however, Merfyn only rested there, his laboured breaths slowing as he gazed into his daughter’s eyes.
The breaths were interrupted by his attempts at speech though he struggled to muster any words. “He took Maeve...I couldn’t stop...” he tried to elaborate but each word caused him pain, “Zoe...Zo...”
“Don’t worry,” she tearfully tried to assure him as the reality began to set in, “we just need to get you some help.”
Merfyn’s bloodied lips formed a faint smile. “Don’t worry about me...” He said, still one to put on a brave face in front of his daughter. He glimpsed the petals the owl had seemingly shed on his chest, “The owl...the owl knows...”
Aria now stood behind Zoe. She’d surveyed the yard, her rational mind trying to piece together what might’ve happened. Lightning strike? Arson? Any theory she had was forgotten when she stared down at her blood-soaked father as Zoe tried to make sense of what she feared were his last words.
“The owl? What owl...” She stopped talking when she noticed the petals trailed off towards the house. The owl was perched on the roof of the outhouse, gazing at them both. She looked back to her father expecting to be able to tell him she knew what to do but his expression was now vacant, his eyes glazed over staring at the sky above.
Those stars he so admired had vanished, making way for the new day. He wasn’t disappointed though, the orange haze that crept around the morning clouds was quite beautiful. Above him the patterns of the stars had been replaced by something far less distant. A flock of birds swirled in a hypnotic pattern, their motion so synchronised they appeared as one mass. Birds were another one of his many interests, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were, his vision growing blurred but then again, he found himself not particularly caring. This winter mornings sky, that illustrious wildlife carrying on, his precious daughters watching over him. Not so bad, is it Derwen. His fingers ran through Gelert’s fur by his side to find the crown of his head that rested on his stomach. “Good boy...” He said one last time, his hand slipping from Gelert as the dog let out a remorseful whine.
Idris finally stepped out, half asleep and wearing what he had slept in and a pair of boots he’d hastily put on much like everyone else. He was startled by the scene that confronted him. Ahead he could see Lewis, Raymond and Cara struggling with the fire and to their side was Zoe cradling his father. Dad? His sister was fixated on something above, however. Aria had scaled the roof and crept up to an owl, her coat held in both arms akin to a net. She saw her moment and leapt. She’d taken a risk, out of desperation and character alike, failing to think what might happen after she’d passed the owl. Its wings spread wide; a decidedly human gasp audible as it barely cleared Aria’s reach. She tumbled down to the floor ten feet below, landing hard on her shoulder.
The fogginess Idris had been suffering from was immediately remedied when Zoe screamed out, “The owl, we have to catch the owl!” Lewis caught wind and rushed past Idris down the lane after it. Petals fell around him as it flew overhead. As ever he’d been drinking the night before, and with each blink of his eyes he felt he simply had to wake up from this nightmare. “You have to get that owl!” Zoe called directly to him, almost begging for him to move. He was the youngest and, in her opinion, the fittest. Ever since he could walk Idris had been quick on his feet. The brother she appealed to now was far from the picture of health however, rough around the edges and still worn out, but if anyone could catch that thing it was him. “IDRIS!”, one last plead saw him snap into action. It was a clear fact he could latch onto in this mystifying world he’d woken up in. Whatever was going on his sister needed him to do this, and he wasn’t one to let his family down. He’d just have to hope his father was okay for the time being.
As Idris rounded the corner of Arfryn’s lane he caught sight of Lewis tailing the owl. It flew oddly low to the ground as if it were struggling to stay aloft, yet its speed still outpaced them. In tucked its wings as it dived into the treeline to the side, a burst of petals remaining as an after image where it once was. Lewis slid to a halt, the gravelly path giving way like a thousand ball-bearings underneath his feet. Idris’s focus was clearer than it had been for years however, he moved with purpose. Without hesitation he leapt over his brother who clenched a knee in pain. Of course, he was worried, but he couldn’t stop. He had no idea how to catch the bird but losing sight of it would be the end of it.
“Catch it! You can do it man.” Idris could hear Lewis shouting behind him as he descended into the wooded hillside. There was a pained tone to his brother’s voice, he’d hurt something, but he couldn’t stop for him.
Ahead of him the owl fluttered between the trees, the rays of light illuminating precious little of the treacherous descent Idris was dealing with. Rocky outcrops, exposed roots and sodden mud made the steep incline a difficult trek on the best of days. But Idris was hurtling down it as fast as he could to keep pace with the owl. His feet barely kept up with him as he avoided what he could, weaving around the numerous trees that jutted out of the hillside. If I hit one of these, I’m not getting up he thought to himself, eyes flitting between the precarious ground he tread and the owl above. How the hell am I meant to catch this thing anyway.
Exhaustion began to set in. He’d barely been running a couple of minutes, but a stitch already began to plague his side. With each drop he made on the descent the shock of the landings ached through his shins. Doubt, hopelessness even, followed. He wasn’t the man he used to be. A tired life has birthed a tired man. The dismay subsided as they neared the bottom however when he saw the owl begin to flail like a wounded animal, and then as if it had been struck down it fell past the rocky precipice that lay at the edge of this woodland. Idris knew the beach was below, they’d come past this small cliff face often, but his worry was with whether the tide would be in or not. He cursed himself for never being able to remember its patterns. He could remember the drop however, and it was high. Twenty feet high. Whether he wanted to or not he couldn’t stop at this point, he was travelling too quickly. He braced himself and leapt.
Like a shelling of the Normandy beaches, he landed with an eruption of sand. The tide was out. No matter how well he thought he’d landed his leap of faith the drop had taken its toll. But there it was, right before his eyes. It was still running from him, yet the owl was now practically on foot, falling back to earth every time it attempted to take off. Spitting sand, he staggered to his feet and endeavoured to give chase. Not another soul could be seen in these early hours, the length of the beach seemingly endless as the two trudged on. Idris could barely believe his eyes as the owl began to morph back and forth into a humanoid shape.
“Not now!” The female form ahead of him protested before wings sprouted again and she shrank back into the shape of an owl.
More and more petals were shed by the creature with each transformation until it finally appeared to drop to the floor and remain as a woman. She landed clumsily but kept her stride. Nonetheless without her wings Idris found himself closing the distance quickly. With a rough diving tackle from behind the chase abruptly ended.
An abundance of flora danced in the air where they had collided before settling back on top of the two. Idris hunched over her on all fours, pinning her arms to the ground. It was all he could do given what he was seeing though. He was staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, yet he was bemused, she was no normal woman. Her skin was a pale green in contrast to the luminous violet of her eyes. The edges of her face developed into the very same petals she’d been shedding, each one creeping from the brilliant white of a lily to a vivid colour all their own at the tips. These flowers ran the course of her body. They crept through every strand of her deep rose-red hair, even arranging themselves down her shoulders into a long dress like garment. She lay there like an immaculate flower arrangement. Idris was speechless.
