Willow - Legend of the Dryads, Book 1

Prologue

The sun shines in through the bedroom window. It's mid-winter, but you wouldn't have guessed it from the bright rays of morning sun that spill into the room, casting a cosy glow over the cream bedsheets. The December air outside may be chilly, but it does nothing to deter me from climbing out of bed (being careful not to wake my sleeping wife), pulling on a clean pair of cargos and a thick jumper before heading down to the forest.

For such a small island, the forest is a rather large one; dominating a great proportion of the land and comprised almost entirely of oak trees. It's a glorious place to be, even in the dormant months of the dark winter.

Helen loves the herbs from this forest. She says they're full of flavour and smell delicious. I come down here a lot during the summer to pick her some as a special treat...just as long as I do the cooking. I love her dearly, but that woman should not be let within three feet of a frying pan, on the basis of both her and my safety!

This time of year, however, the floor lies bare; the rich green hue that habitually lightens the soil is absent and the sweet, tiny flower heads are nowhere to be seen. If you didn't know any better, you'd think it is dead.

Asleep. That would be a better adjective. Awaiting the day when its true potential will be released. And, my, what a potential. In my mind, nothing beats the sight of our forest in full bloom. My thoughts flicker to the young life growing inside Helen's tummy. Dormant. Asleep. Awaiting the day when its true potential will be released. I wonder if he or she will love this forest as much as I do.

I come to a stop in a little clearing; my favourite area of the forest. I always feel kind of sorry for the lonesome beech tree which stands here solitary in a forest of oaks. I can't imagine how it ever got to be here, but sometimes it's best not to question the ways of nature. Sometimes, I will admit, I talk to the tree, almost as if it were my own child. Some would probably deem it strange how I say hello every day and check that it's okay, but I suppose it's just one of those funny little things. Everyone has one – that odd quirk that brings them comfort but that they somehow feel pegs them as being "abnormal". Truthfully, the way I see it, normalcy is the only abnormality that faces us in these days.

I stare out across the rippling lake, absent in my own thoughts. A family of ducks drift across the chilly, crystal waters without a care, chortling happily amongst themselves. Beams of sunlight caress the surface of the lake, offering a natural warmth, and yet in spite of the drop of the icy wind, I feel my bones shiver. I wrap my coat tighter around myself. Perhaps I'm coming down with something. I ignore it.

I don't know how long I stand out here, thinking about nothing in particular, when before I know it, a dark mist enshrouds my vision and for a while I can't see a thing. My legs are the first to lose their feeling. I collapse down to my knees, suddenly aware that I can no longer breathe. Alarmed and choking, I wait as more and more of my body loses sensation and I am utterly numbed from head to toe, and I feel nothing apart from an intense banging within my skull. There is nothing I can do to stop the invisible force as it takes hold of my consciousness.

The pain ends. So does my life.