Under The Oak Tree Books Novels & Stories

- 24 - Out in the woods, deep in the forest, where the trees get so dense that the undergrowth has never been touched by the rays of the sun, there, beneath the roots of an ancient oak tree, lies a mound covered by a thick layer of dried leaves. Hidden among the ancient roots is a small opening. At first glance, one might think it’s just a small burrow, a lair where bears spend their winter, but looks can be deceiving, particularly when enchantment is at work.

My physical body may have been healed, but my mama would take a very long time to regenerate. She encouraged me to spend more time in nature, and told me that my mama would regenerate faster if I did. And that was exactly what I did. I spent my time going for runs, or studying the spell book under a tree. Today, that was exactly what I was doing. I sat under an oak tree, which was beside a large field blessed with beautiful flowers. The weather was nice, as the sun was out and the sky was blue. Wind blew past me, rustling leaves on the large tree, causing a leaf to land on the spell book.

Birds chirped melodiously, their songs harmonizing with the rustling leaves and the distant howls of the pack. We ventured deeper into the heart of the pack lands, where the ancient oak tree stood tall and majestic. Its branches reached toward the sky, casting a protective shadow over the surrounding area. The ground beneath it now teemed with life, lush green grass and delicate ferns adorning the soil. "This is where it all began," Lady Loretta said softly, her voice filled with reverence. "The oak tree, the source of our pack's prosperity, and the testament to your power, Royal."

Elara felt a prickle of awe, a sense of being in the presence of something truly extraordinary. They emerged into a small clearing, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon. In the center, a gnarled oak tree stood sentinel, its branches reaching towards the heavens like skeletal fingers. Beneath its ancient boughs, the ground was carpeted with soft, dewy moss. Kael nudged her gently towards it, a clear invitation to rest.

But every year, at the same time, one of her comrades delivered a pack of shortbread cookies. At 60, I taught my final class. Before the bell rang, I looked out toward the hillside. A flourishing willow tree stood there. My son lay beneath it. "Cyrus, Dad misses you." —The End

"It's ordinary." "That's the same thing." --- The seventh book was different. Not a memoir — a children's book. About a garden, about a fig tree, about the dogs buried under its branches and the women who loved them. Beatriz's successor, Eva, was hesitant at first. "A children's book?" she said. "A book for everyone." --- I wrote about Orwell, the scruffy survivor. Pippin, the disaster with mismatched ears. Fig, the puppy who arrived in a crate. Oak, the quiet one, the watcher. And the women who buried them, who marked the stones, who never forgot.

June arrived with heat and humidity. The kind of weather that made you want to sit still and do nothing. Catherine said the garden loved it. Doris said the garden was welcome to it. Maple dug a hole under the porch and refused to come out. Marmalade sat on the porch railing and watched the world with lazy eyes. I sat on the swing. The oak tree gave shade. A breeze moved through the leaves. I had my laptop open. The novel was published. The Secret Billionaire I Married. My name on the cover. My story inside.

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.

Eighteen Years Ago The Shadow Pack burned that night; the storm came first, then came the lightning. It split the sky in two; thunder shook the very foundation of the pack, like the growl of a vengeful god. The rain lashed out, falling heavily, but it didn't quench the fire swallowing the packhouse whole. The flames devoured the Alpha's mansion and everything that stood in their way. Hidden in the hollow oak tree is a child with jet-black hair clutching a leather-bound book to her chest.

The river narrowed behind us and the land weaved into older woods—trees that smelled of ash and old rain. Hollow Oak did not announce itself with a trumpet. It came like a bruise in the earth: the trees went thinner, the air tasted flat, and the ground underfoot was scarred with black lines. At first I thought it was just rot and old fires. Then I saw the stone.