That night, we entered the shadows of the forest. They dripped with an eerie quiet on that moonless night. Our muffled whispers and the sound of the crackling forest floor were all that we heard, except for the occasional hoot of an owl. After a time, when we didn’t speak, it was only our footsteps we heard, and the owl rising to the air, fluttering from a limb above us, then flying off.
I knew my way to the king’s oak, to the massive tree where one day Cecilia and I had picnicked and kissed—just kissed, lest we be found out again by another scoundrel. I went there others time when I wanted to be alone, and thought it almost magical the way the heavy limbs of the ancient tree swayed low and deep as if it was sighing in empathy. The tree bore my woes before and would bear another without a
