Under Oak Tree Novels & Stories

I can hear pants as it got slippery. I stepped on the grass, and I noticed a small puddle ahead. It was greenish and dead bugs floated above. I jumped over it, glancing to see if I stepped on it. I raise my head. Crows flew freely above the trees surrounding the building, squawking and flapping their wings. Vines overlapped every tree's shoulders, stained with a red substance. Torn clothes scatter below a huge old oak tree. It mesmerized me with the sight. It is too early for Halloween, right?

The time I was wasting. Evans was still out there. I straightened and stepped over the unconscious outlaws, looking around. I noticed it then. A tree. In the center of the clearing, there was a single, enormous oak. The wood underneath was scarred with something that made my stomach turn, and its bark was split. Blood. Not merely splashed. Not merely smeared. **Sculpted.** Three sharp, deep phrases that seemed to have been sunk like inhuman claws into the wood.

And I sat. I was leaning against the tree just admiring everything around me. Admiring nature, and hoping that nothing crawled or fell on me while I sat here. Should I jump, I'd land on my feet anyway. I hoped. The oak tree wasn't as high as the other trees I'd been on anyway. Come to think of it, this seemed to be the only oak tree I've seen here. And hence the shortest full blown tree here. I felt wrapped up in it, and it's numerous leaves.

Their sprawling branches danced gracefully to the tunes of the nocturnal breeze, casting playful, shifting shadows on the ground below, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and darkness. Within the heart of this verdant sanctuary, Silas had pinpointed a location revered by his kind and known intimately only to a handful of werewolves: a serene clearing, protected and encircled by venerable oak trees. These mighty oaks, having braved countless storms and witnessed numerous cycles of life and death, bore the marks of time on their gnarled barks. If one paid close attention, it felt as if these trees whispered sagas of bygone eras, their hushed voices carrying tales of valor, love, and betraya

That's why I lightly blow on my palm to give it warmth. In the middle of the forest, on my way to the tree house, I noticed a sizable oak tree. It's the only unique tree here, which amazes me. The majority are tall and lean. I ignored it and passed it by it. Focusing on giving myself warmth, I didn't realize that I had passed by an oak tree again. "Oh, I didn't know that there was a lot of that here." I talked to myself. Pluto and I used to be here often. So I was surprised and a bit incredulous that there was an oak tree here that was new to my eyes.

We just stood, holding hands and enjoying the cool breeze and of course, the sweet melody of the birds. Then Nicholas’ lips twisted. I knew he was about to break the awkward silence. Goodness. Relief washed over me. “ Do you have any idea what this tree represents in the world of werewolves?” He arched his brows. “ I'm sure you must have heard about it” I nodded confidently.”Moonbark oak tree” My lips shivered. “Good” Nicholas gave me credit. “ Do you know its significance?” He asked and I narrowed my eyes to the trees, scanning it studiously. I have heard a lot about the tree; how mystical it was in the world of the werewolves.

"Okay. Bye, Zoey! " "Bye, Herbie." Zoey and I continued on our way to the guardrail guarded by the same old man before. Zoey told him something, and the old man let us through. As before, he wrote something down in his book. Zoey was still holding my arm when we got under the fig tree. At night, this tree looks frightening by many dangling roots. However, I could feel an aura of warmth radiating from this tree. When I decided to stop, Zoey turned her head.

Children are born knowing its shape the way they know their mother’s heartbeat. ‎ ‎The great oak has become the sky. ‎ ‎Not metaphor. ‎ ‎Its branches have reached so high they touch the edge of atmosphere, its leaves a second firmament that filters starlight into gentle patterns on the ground below. Its roots have tunneled deep, connecting every place where someone has ever chosen love. When you walk barefoot in a distant desert or a floating city or a pocket realm of pure thought, you are walking on the oak’s roots. ‎ ‎The white flowers are the air.

hummed in her chest. “No” trembled in her head. But her feet answered for her, moving before she could talk herself out of it. They walked behind the shed toward the quiet path that led to the row of old oak trees. The sounds of volunteers softened behind them until there was nothing but the rustle of leaves and the crunch of gravel under their steps. They stopped beneath the largest oak, the one that towered over the rest like a guardian. Jaxon shoved his hands in his pockets the same habit he had when he was nervous, though he’d never admit it.

She couldn’t keep our promise. “Luna, you’re breaking my heart” I shouted before falling to my knees. I looked up at the sky and I was surrounded by thousands of evergreen trees, and they kept all the secrets of Madison, the little town in which they circled around.