Under The Oak Tree 272 Novels & Stories

“How are your quarters?” “Fine,” Yvayn stopped unpacking and looked up, “especially this view of the river.” His father walked over to the window and looked out. Evidence of the city was now gone. The riverbank was about one hundred cubits away. The shore was lined with tall ancient cypress trees. The cypress knees poked out of the black water serving as stools for the water birds and hiding places for darker creatures. The wake left by the boat scared off several birds that screamed as they flew up into the air. The trees were covered in drooping vines; giant ferns were growing along the shore. The forest was dark and full of shadows. They passed a tall old dead oak tree that was covered co

The accumulation of fifteen years of being together had made the arrangement more fully itself, not less. They stood under the oak. The June light came through the full canopy in the specific quality of the filtered summer light — green and warm and particular. The oak's trunk was wide — wider than Ernest could reach around, wider than two people could reach around together. The bark was rough, the texture of the old oak, the specific pattern of ridges and crevices that had formed over decades. The roots spread out from the base, some of them visible above the ground, the evidence of the tree's underground life.

It’s like her nightmares coming to life but she took a leap and ran anyway. “Fuck!” The man kicked a tree and pulled a phone out of his jeans pocket. He was scrawny and wearing a flannel shirt and he was shivering and so was she. She was observing the man, trying to listen to what he was saying from under the tree roots that she crawled into.

he then reasoned their discussion of the King's riddle, Taye has started again, he called the King by his name and smiled, he had barely crossed two streams at this time, he was alone on such a tiny route, whistling has he walked in great elegance, fear was the last thing that will occur to him... before long he heard a sound of movements under a giant Mahogany tree, he glared at the tree, he was just at the extreme of the forest, on hearing such a weird sound, he paused, now was just in the edge of obobo forest--a forest that wears the description of a wilderness. "Let me go and check for myself, it could be that the gods

The good thing about being Butterfly with Carson — as I've come to enjoy — was I didn't need to any longer. Carson turned to me with a perked eyebrow. In the bright white light from the ceiling and floors I could now see the slight redness in his otherwise perfect eyes and I was glad we stopped. “Where is everyone?” I waved my hand about indicating the empty space. “Don't tell me you didn't see those cars.” Carson chuckled and drew a hand over his dark stubble, an action that made me involuntarily clench my thighs. “That. Well, you did not hear this from me, but, Jaime Crawford junior also hosts an underground and very illegal poker game every Tuesday night.”

I stood up and went to the sink to rinse my cup before putting it away. I went out through the back door that led to my back yard.The view was spectacular. My cottage was perched at the top of a very high hill, and my back yard gave me a breathtaking view of the whole vast forest filled land. Rooted deeply on the edge of the cliff was an ancient oak tree that towered high, over thirty feet and leaning over like it was going to topple but it stood strong. A naturally made hole was embedded into the tree where I could reach it easily.

Rowan said, pointing through the trees. Kael rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "We stay together." Nobody argued. We followed the sound. The forest changed as we walked. The pines gave way to older trees. Their branches spread so wide that the sunlight barely reached the ground. The air smelled of wildflowers. Then... I saw it. An oak tree. Its trunk split into two before reaching the branches. The same tree from my mother's drawing. "The orchard," Elias whispered. No one moved.

“It can’t be any other tree than that. Aunty Corvina told me that I couldn’t miss it, and she was right. I did—” He freezes in his spot, staring down at where we left Corvina’s car, as he stops his pointing gesture mid-air. We observe him confused before we follow his gaze to the spot beneath the thick branches of the oak tree. “Where is the car?” he asks lowly, getting my heart to skyrocket in anxiety. “Where is the fucking car?” I blink several times as I think I must be imagining things. The oak tree is still standing there, its branches giving shadows to an now empty spot.

Aminah felt relieved and slowly closed her eyes as she felt the scorching feeling of water entering her lung since there was no longer any air. Before passing out, she saw a fuzzy form of a guy swimming toward her. ___ While perched in a tree high above the falls, Bram observes the visitors apathetically. Celebrations used to be extremely vibrant for him, but now this is the saddest occasion since his mother has passed away. Bram remembered his mother and her hopes for the village, her love for people, and her compassion for others. He groaned because whenever he doesn't think well of something, the image of his mother appears and her goodness restores his senses.

The stars reflected off the marble as he ran his fingers over the reconstructed lullaby. “...safe in fire’s ember… if your voice is stolen…” He froze. One line had always struck him wrong: “Sleep little oak…” Why an oak? His mother’s people revered ash trees. Oaks belonged to another line. He pulled out his mother’s letters. In one, the word “oak” was crossed out—rewritten as ‘bokeh.’ It wasn’t a tree. It was a name. A name buried. Rowan raced to the archival floor where Avena still worked.