Like Wind On A Dry Branch Novels & Stories

Her palms tingled, then cooled, as if someone had pressed snow into them without wet. The air above her hands… thickened. She couldn’t see it. She felt it. A small, swirling weight. A knot of… movement. She tipped her cupped hands slightly, as if emptying them. Wind followed. It wasn’t a gust. Not yet. Just a brief stream—stronger than a normal exhale—rushing from between her palms and into the clearing. It rustled the dead leaves in front of her, making them jump and skitter. Luna grinned, sudden and wild.

"Egredere et saltare mecum." In response, a soft breeze began to stir, caressing my face and rustling my hair. I fluttered my eyes open, revealing their vibrant magical hue, I extended my fingers towards the sky. The wind obeyed my command, swirling around me in a playful dance. Giggling with delight, I twirled on the spot. The wind followed my every movement, spinning faster and faster until it formed a miniature cyclone around me. Leaves and petals lifted from the ground, swirling in a mesmerizing display of nature's power.

The forest was alive with whispers. Branches swayed in the midnight wind, their shadows reaching across the mossy earth like claws. The smell of damp soil and crushed pine needles clung to the air. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, sharp and mournful, echoing through the emptiness.

The night's breeze was just as it used to be in every winter season. Cool and chilly but at the same soothing on one's skin as it showed signs of welcoming a new and fresh snow that had started falling in gentle drops. The trees were not left out from experiencing the touch of the wind and the snow as their branches moved in harmony with their gentle whispers and whistles, adding to the thrill of the night as the sound of the scrunching footsteps on the dry grasses accompanied them in their echo inside the dense forest.

“It’s like we’re in the middle of nowhere.” The wind picked up a little then, brushing through the trees and making the branches creak faintly. It was almost dark now, the horizon dimming fast. A cold chill crawled up my spine as I turned back toward the car, where Max was pressing his small hands against the window, watching us with wide eyes.

the old man added just as a sudden gust of cold wind swept past, carrying with it the rustle of dry leaves tumbling across the ground. “This is a good time for taking walks and going for a run,” the old man sighed. “I miss the good old days when I was still strong enough to run. But old age is beautiful too.” He smiled with content. “While that is true, I feel for the many lives that will be lost this season. It is also the perfect time for fire outbreaks,” Lyra muttered. “That's right.” I nodded. “Because of the dryness, fire is prone to happen during these times. I wonder…” I paused, the words dying on my lips as I froze.

Great. Emma looked outside at the forest of naked trees. Even the bark clear of the snow was white. She watched the wind blow the drifts between the trunks, the flakes swirling toward the cabin in visible gusts. The wind gained strength, blowing the snow and spinning higher into the air, the cloud thickening in spots as it pulled fresh powder from the ground. A rapid succession of Rorschach images blew across the landscape. For just a second, one almost looked like an open mouth.

Now though, nothing about those fears were irrational or fake. Trees with long branches and sweeping leaves waved back and forth in the slight wind, and the wind made a high whistling sound as it wove through the dense vegetation, rustling the dead leaves on the forest floor. I hugged my arms to myself as I walked, the heels of my shoes sinking into the soft earth.

Compared to the distance of a stage between them earlier, standing that close at that moment allowed Jason to clearly smell the faint fragrance on Ivy's body. He could even hear her heartbeat. The more he looked at her, the more familiar he felt. An impossible speculation started forming in his mind. The woman's silence gave him inexplicable confidence. He slowly lifted his trembling hand toward her face. The nearer his fingers moved to the mask, the faster his heart pounded, his breathing growing uneven.

There's nothing to guide me into this memory, no familiarity, or persons I recognise. All that's here is dry and cracked ground beneath my feet, and the air that tastes like old bold and even older sorrow. I hear the wind begin to whisper again, not through the leaves like I would expect, but through the bones of trees long dead, their twisted branches reaching toward the sky like fingers clawing for something they once had and can never grasp again.