• Another flicker passed the moon, and this time, he was able to see what had permitted the flash of darkness to occur. A branch was slithering is way through the crevice, entwining itself around the wall and clinging close to the ceiling, like a moth that hovered just close enough to worship the bright intensity of a bare light bulb, but not daring to get any closer to it then a few inches.
    The plant rippled to the center of the room, then froze, giving Rowan a perfect moment to pull away from wonder, and start looking at it with a logical eye. The branch seemed like any other plant to him, no doubt from a tree, though he knew it was impossible for a tree to grow so immediately, and have the ability to break though walls like the ones that contained him, however archaic they may be. Red berries floated from smaller stems off the branch, accompanied by leaves that clustered around them.
    The congested limb shuddered slightly, confusing Rowan even more then he was moments ago. He felt the tension as his neck try to tip for clarification, but he stopped himself, knowing that that would only add to the perplexed moment more.
    The plant faced another convulsion, this time, the seizure was productive. One of the berries, (they looked brown to him in the dim light) plucked itself from the vine, and tumbled downwards. Rowan had expected to feel a berry hit him when it landed, surely when a berry fells above you, and strikes you, you expect it to feel like a berry, or perhaps a rock. It didn’t.
    An unexpected splash echoed into Rowan’s open palm. His fingers twitched slightly, the warm liquid curving into the form of his hand. It took a great deal of energy to lift his arm, and stare into whatever had dripped into his hand, but not impossible.
    “Blood.” He clarified, blinking once. The boy glanced up at the branch again, and surely, there where berries clinging to the clusters of leaves, not drops of blood. His tired gaze trailed back to his palm, and he stared dully at the mark on his hand.
    A second later, the blood had caught all his interest. His left hand almost completely drown in the blood as it swarmed over his fingers, it’s color shadowing to black, then, when it’s task was accomplished and his entire hand disappeared, the color flashed to a blinding white.
    Blindness passed his head, and surrounded his sight completely in white, spinning in the direction of a disobedient clock that refused to tell time correctly. Rowan remained in that state a moment, unable to hear anything, or see past the pure white that delimited him. His gaze scanned his empty surrounding carefully, examining every little nothing possible. Finally, a dark spot blotted past the light, bruising the perfection of the white walls.
    The blob shifted its shape, and quickly began to make a familiar figure, one he would know anywhere. Color was added, and several more shapes took there places. He knew what was happening now, the enigma he was forced to stare at became clear, and it seemed almost foolish to not understand before.

    ٭٭٭
    Shade cascaded down the witch’s composed face as she stared deeply into the wide trunk of a tree.
    “Listen to me carefully, Rowan,” She said, her eyes seeming to gleam as they scanned the twisted trunk of the tree. “For what I am about to tell you must never be forgotten.” The young Rowan she was speaking to wriggled excitedly, leaning his back against the old tree, preparing himself for another of the witch’s astonishing stories. He sat, his legs crossed, and eyes wide with interest as she looked at him, a witty smile pulling over her cheekbones. Her voice hummed like an aged widow as she spoke, waving her intricate pattern beyond all perfection imaginable in the darkest corners of an abandoned cellar.
    “Long before the world we know existed, a great magick existed in this very spot…The Rowan tree was a sign of protection, and it contained incomprehensible powers. These sacred powers, of course, where wanted by many different forms. Creatures that no longer exist in our world, Rowan. There where, guardians of the tree, powerful dragons and serpents that said never left the Rowan Tree’s side. They attacked, and killed anything that came close to the tree; forever protecting it’s magick, and power. Then there was eagles, proud birds that stretched to sizes larger then the sky. They attacked the Rowan Tree, looking for the sacred magick, and beginning an instant war with the dragons…the war lasted a thousand years, Rowan; none of either side survived.” Valdra stopped, taking in a breath and lifting her chin so she could gaze into the branches of the tree. A crumpled smile distributing on her cheeks as she reached her slender arm into the tree. Young Rowan giggled, covering his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound as Valdra raised to her toes, then hopped slightly until she was able to pluck a small object from the limbs of the Rowan Tree. She gazed at the item in the palm of her hand for a moment, and then smiled back at Rowan, holding it out to him between her index finger and thumb. Young Rowan took it. It was a berry, a small, red berry about the size of the pupil of his eye. He examined it carefully, rolling it in his palm with interest. “Each berry on the Rowan tree is a drop of blood shed from the battle. And every feather that fell from the eagles gave birth to another Rowan Tree in the world. You know that we use these berries for protection, Rowan, you have seen me use them before.”
    Young Rowan nodded once, still staring at the berry in awe. “Yeah! You use them allot, you put them in the bowl then fill it with wa-…”

    ٭٭٭

    The voice, and image slowly faded, and the drop slipped of Rowan’s palm, splashing against the ground. He blinked, then stared at the splatter of blood on the ground, moving over it and staring at the drop in fear. He wanted it to come back; he wanted the memory of Valdra to come back so he could see her again. He felt water start to pool in his eyes, and he closed them, lowering back to the ground and pulling his knees up. He stared at the wall as the branch of the Rowan Tree crept back to where it came, letting the wall close him in shadows again.
    Rowan huddled against the cold, hard wall, pressing his face against it and closed his eyes, waiting, praying for sleep to take over him again. After a few lonely, agonizing moments, it did.