The branches of the oak tree screeched in all directions, playing a desolate tune of death despite the absence of the wind. It was like a graceful dancer performing a ritual, welcoming whoever dared to step into its vicinity.
Damian stared at it, mesmerized by how elegantly each dying bough swayed enticingly. He dropped his cane and walked towards it as if his limpness had just run away. He stepped closer and closer, reviving the almost perishing protruding roots back to life.
The roots crawled and followed as he strode, slowly but gently groping Damian’s arms and feet, lifting him in the air as he danced along with the king of the deserted place. The tall cogon grasses also swayed with their master.
Damian opened his eyes and looked down below. He was at an elevation above the ground,
