(no subject)

[dont_turn_around]

There is a new tree in the forest.

 

Elm do brood, 

 

The other trees don't like it.

 

and oak do hate,

It's keeping to itself, for now.


but the willow walks when you travel late.

For now.

Comments

[fireinthehole]

When he has a spare moment, he's working out at the patch. That's what he's started calling it to himself -- the patch.

And there's a lot to do. In addition to getting the plants themselves under control (which is a little unnatural, but Boyd's getting the hang of it, slowly, and with liberal use of his machete), he's got to build a little shed for drying, and he's got to think about building in a few security functions as well, and all of it he has to cart into the forest by himself. And he is, after all, freshly cleared to work after getting shot.

Boyd Crowder knows from forests that make you feel like you're being watched: he is a product of hollows, of life in the shadows of mountains.

And as he passes by after hauling in his last pole -- a big one, to be used to make the timber frame for his drying shed -- he stops.

But not for long.

Because while the quality of this feeling of being watched has suddenly worsened -- it's bad watching, not neutral watching, as it usually is -- Boyd would much rather be a moving target than a sitting duck.

[dont_turn_around]

no eyes


sees all