The Magic Tree House - An Hour for Oblivion

Chapter Ten

The next page was, of course, blank.

With growing confidence, she set the pen down and filled the paper with more words.

*     *     *

Morgan awoke in the gentle shade of young willow. The ground was a soft carpet of moss and red lichen. She was barefoot and wore a simple, ankle-length brown dress.

The sky was clear and blue, the air fresh with a slight hint of wood-smoke.

Sitting, she scanned her surroundings and yawned. Nothing appeared familiar, though she felt safe and protected.

An echo bounced around in the back of her mind. It spoke of friends. Of children.

She made out a thin line of smoke rising in the distance. Not the smoke of something on fire, but rather a cozy hearth.

Standing, she stretched and laughed. She felt years younger.

Younger than when, though? She still couldn’t remember the past.

Anyway, her legs and feet no longer creaked. That was good. Her hands did not appear as wrinkled. Wonderful!

What is happening here? she marveled. Whose magic is this?

Leaving the protection of the willow, Morgan walked toward the source of the smoke. It did not take long to arrive at the small cottage on the top of a small rise.

“Must find Morgan,” came a deep, scratchy voice from within.

“Malcolm is out looking for her now,” a soft, female voice replied.

Morgan stepped through the doorway and found Julia kneeling beside Merlin, holding a folded cloth to his forehead.

“I am here,” Morgan said, a smile surfacing. “Dear ones, I am here.”

Julia ran to Morgan. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” she said. “I’ll go find Malcolm.”

Morgan went to Merlin.

“What happened?” he asked, pushing up into a sitting position. “How are we in this place?”

“She’s back,” Morgan said softly. “Her eyes are again open and she writes. More importantly, she believes.”

“In us,” Merlin added, rubbing his eyes.

“In Camelot,” Morgan added.

*     *     *

Mary looked up from her notebook. She glanced at the books against the wall. She stared out the open doors into her garden and smiled.

Again, she set her pen down.

Jack and Annie tumbled gently…

*     *     *

…to the ground, caught by carpet of autumn leaves.

They knew at once they were back in the Frog Creek Woods. It was late afternoon as told by the setting sun. A constant breeze blew past them, brushing twigs and debris from their clothes.

Slowly, they stood.

“What happened?” Annie asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jack said, looking down at his fingers. The blue ring was gone. Annie’s was gone as well.