Read Under The Oak Tree Novels & Stories

Lyana says, and writes in the ledger on the spot: Oregon town — payroll clerk — yes. The cutting, as if it understands it has been given a job beyond being a wall, lifts all its leaves at once. They catch the morning sun and for the first time, it chimes. Not clear like Hope. Not deep like Duskbane. Hoarse, cracked, but true. Rowan’s bark tablet flares. The dim light goes solid green, and a new thin thread snaps into place between Oregon and Appalachia, as if the two youngest Trees recognized each other.

--- I told Damon about the tree. He was in the study. Reading something on his computer. He looked up when I walked in. "A tree?" "A tree. For Sam. In the garden." "What kind." "I do not know. Something that will last. Something that will not die." He thought about it. "Oak." "Oak?" "Oaks live for hundreds of years. They grow slow. They get big. They do not die easily." "That sounds like Sam." "How." "He was stubborn. He was loud. He took up space. He did not die easily. He was not supposed to die at all."

“CIARA JOY!” If I can’t see her, then I don’t hear her. I thought to myself in a sing-song voice as I reclined cross-legged with my head resting back against the trunk of one of my favorite hiding spots in the woods. Nestled on the east edge of the border of our pack’s land is my favorite oak tree, with thick, wide branches stretching out in all directions high above the rest of the woods. My oak tree also has the most magnificent views of the mountains and surrounding woods which also border on two sides of the Crystal Lake waters. “Miss Ciara Joy Callaway, you better not be up some tree again, or so help me. Goddess. I will tell Alpha Radar and your father you are flapping about again!”

she said, placing her palms against the tree trunk. Before I had time to ponder what that meant, the tree began to creak, its branches and leaves rustling and shaking. Josh leapt backwards and pulled me away from the tree with him. It couldn’t be. It was. The tree’s large, heavy branches were moving in front of us, bending and twisting as they lowered to the ground. “Climb aboard, my darlings,” said Olive. Josh and I shared a look - neither of us had any idea what had just happened. Were we safe, or was this some kind of new trap? Nothing I’d read about dryads had mentioned they could command their trees as though they were made of rubber instead of solid wood.

' she stammered. "'Because,' the Oak explained, 'your broken branches provide shelter from the wind and rain. You offer a unique sanctuary, a haven of peace amidst the storm. You are different, Willow, and that is your strength. You offer something the other trees cannot.' “Willow, humbled, began to understand. She was no longer just a tree; she was a symbol of resilience, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, life finds a way to bloom. Her scars were not a mark of weakness, but a testament to her strength, a story of survival etched into her very being.”

Something distinctly calming about it. I counted the oak trees until I reached my favourite tree of them all. It was the oak tree near my favourite spot. The sight which greeted me was breathtaking. It was a secluded corner, covered with shrubs of bright green grass. Within lay an alcove, hidden away from view. It was barely noticeable if you were not familiar with it. Pushing aside the shrubs, I sat under the shade, glancing around the woods. My thoughts ran riot in my head as I watched the stillness of the woods. I was confused and heartbroken at the same time.

The path beneath their feet grew uneven, the forest growing thicker and more ancient as they walked, until they arrived at the base of the oldest oak tree in Valenwood. The massive oak towered above them, its gnarled branches stretching out like protective arms, creating a canopy that filtered the moonlight. Caius stopped beneath the tree, his shoulders tense as he exhaled a slow breath. Lira stood beside him, unsure of what to say, the weight of the prophecy hanging between them.

As we approached the front entrance, I turned to face Rico, "Can we go back to the oak tree again?" "Why? Aren't you hungry?" He asked. "Yes I am but I feel drawn to the tree. I want to say goodnight before I sleep," I answered honestly, despite how weird I sounded. "Okay then, let's go." He said and we walked side by side again to the oak tree. The oak tree stood tall and majestic, its branches reaching out as if embracing the moon above. The air around it felt charged with a certain energy, a quiet strength that resonated deep within me.

Colton looks like he wants to walk into a tree. I shake my head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “You two are terrible at lying.” Oakley beams. “Thank you.” “That wasn’t a compliment,” I say. “It felt like one,” he replies. Colton exhales slowly. “Let’s just… move on. The orchard is this way.” Oakley nods quickly. “Yes. Orchard. Trees. Fruit. No mysterious healer prophecies there.” Colton mutters, “Hopefully.”

If the hedge wants payment for entry, it can have fabric. I have paid worse. When I reach the old boundary tree, I stop. It’s not remarkable to look at, which is why it works. A thick oak with bark like layered scars. The kind of tree people pass a thousand times without remembering. The kind of tree that survives because it’s uninteresting. I press my palm to its trunk. The wood is cold. Alive. I close my eyes and listen. Not with ears. With the part of me that learned early that silence has texture.