Moonlight and shadows paint the ghostly glen. Awash with silver and blue, pitch black and ivory, it is a place of magic and foreboding. An eerie wind blows a fluted note, and the watchful owl hoots back. A scrambling is heard in the undergrowth as a small scurrying creature burrows into its nest. The clouds briefly veil the moon, and darkness is absolute, before a faint glimmering light once more pierces the gloom. Brambles and thorny twigs crunch underfoot as the fox pads by, unhurried in his night-time pursuits. Feathers rustle softly and fan out as the owl prepares to make his silent leap into the void. Not a sound is heard but the heartbeat of the glen and the snuffling of its inhabitants.
A more vivid, brighter and warmer light appears, deep in the thicket, as a match flares when struck. A crackling noise fills the silence as the snuffling, scratching and scurrying hurriedly withdraws. A deep and melodious timbre is heard, as the owl cocks its watchful head and observes. A softer trickle answers; a sweet and mournful echo. Gradually the snuffling restarts as the glen adjusts to the new light, starkly different to the old. Where blue and silver once were, reigns a flickering gold and red. The faint moon cannot reweave its spell, and the shadows deepen. In time, all movement subsides as the bright light falters, ebbs, and dies.
Shadows remain as the silver steals softly back in to illuminate. Stillness pervades and the pinprick stars flare brighter and then wink out, one by one. The moon fades to a phantom presence as the midnight blue awning begins to be pierced with streaks of gold and blushes of rose pink. The fox pads quietly back to his den, the dawn signifying the end of his nightly travels. The badger curls into a soft ball, its snuffling replaced with gentle snores. A twitter, then a merry tune, is begun. The Blackbird, the Lark, the Wren and the Finch all listen, and reply. The chorus of the symphony builds to a sweet crescendo and the sun breaks free of the moon's embrace, hurtling into the sky with joyous abandon. Slowly flowers unfurl their petals with care, as the Honeybee starts his daily rounds.
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In the depths of the wood..Short Story
I finished my Latin mock exam about twenty minutes early. Rather than check over my translation for the fifth time, I picked up my pen again. This was a result. It is a short work of fiction, more of a descriptive piece than an actual story, and too...