Under The Oak Tree Novel 121 Novels & Stories

Three hours had passed without me noticing a single minute. I looked down at the open sketchbook. The drawing covered the entire page. The oak tree stood strong in the center, its heavy branches casting long, shaded light across the grass. In the foreground, the small yellow lilies looked almost real, their thin petals catching light made entirely out of unpainted white paper. It was detailed, neat, and sharp.

Rowan’s POV I sat with my back against the same oak tree I’d leaned on for four days straight, one knee drawn up, forearm resting across it. The bark had worn a permanent groove in my cloak. My stomach had long since stopped growling. Now, it just ached in quiet protest. The dead-end clearing looked exactly the same as it had yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. It was made of thick pines, fallen needles, no tracks, and no scent beyond this point. I had circled this spot so many times I could walk it blindfolded. I had clawed at roots, sniffed every inch of bark, shifted, and shifted again until my muscles trembled. Nothing.

Her breath quickened as I traced her lace underwear, tugging them down with slow intent. A gnarled oak stood in the garden’s darkest corner, its branches shielding us from the world. I guided her against its rough bark, the coolness contrasting the heat between us. My hands moved urgently, unbuckling my belt, and her eyes held mine, dark and molten, urging me on.

CHAPTER 3 He led me across the lawn towards a large oak tree. My toes sunk into the soft loam of the yard, feeling the lush grass caressing my toes as I walked naked towards the tree. The boughs of the aged giant swayed across the sky as though trying to sweep the clouds away so that it could be reunited with the sun once again. “Hug the tree, slut. Your body needs to be tightly pressed against it, and your legs need to be spread.”

Alicia’s POV The oak tree was my sanctuary. The thick branches shaded me from the sun like a canopy, casting dappled patterns of light across the grass and my lap. My bare feet lay tucked on the velvet blanket I had laid out, while a young maid knelt dutifully beside me, massaging peppermint oil into my feet. Asides from dealing with my enemies I enjoy reading books, especially politics though. I didn’t acknowledge the maid, My mind was too deep in Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince.

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.”

The thick fog wove around Clara’s boots as she stepped carefully through the gnarled underbrush. The air was heavy with dampness and an unshakable sense of waiting. Somewhere ahead, beneath the sprawling canopy, the Weeping Tree stood like a sentinel guarding secrets too old to speak aloud. Beside her, Emily’s breaths came ragged, the remnants of her battle beneath the roots still etched on her skin. Her eyes, once bright with resolve, flickered now with exhaustion—and something else: a flicker of doubt.

The voice called out from across, and then he began to walk towards us. "I would be waiting then," Nico turned to leave. "Hey man, you coming?" I recognised the face from the night in the cave. He was one of them. Nico turned to see me in shock. He understood that I could recognise his friend also, and then he gave me a look that warned me not to tell anyone about their secret. ****** Under the cover of darkness, I stood beneath the old oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching out like protective arms. My heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and a feeling of fear, against something that might happen as I waited for Nico.

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.

Alpha Ros walked towards Orlan and passed by him, as Orlan didn't show regards to him and vice versa. Alpha Ros came to check on me and Orlan left the place. After some couple of days, the time for the exam came very near. I was under a oak tree, at the backyard. The breeze under the tree was very favourable and mild. I was flipping the pages slowly as I grasp enough from them. All I was doing was mere rereading, I had read more than enough, that would be very helpful for me.