“Listen to what the Forrest Giants say when they speak to you,” begged the Wise Owl as she perched upon the tree top, forgetting that her young Fox was stories below as she continued on, “you must not forget that those Trees have been here much longer than you and I, my dear.”
Fox couldn’t help himself — he had to see it with his very own eyes. There were tales about the long gravel road. All of the other packs would claim that traveling down the gravel trap was too risky during the day, because if you could be seen, then you could be shot down. And at night, you could hear the screeching howls from Muts and somewhere even further in that pitch-black lot were Stomping Stallions and Mares, hardly welcoming — but something, perhaps courage, made Fox want to venture and find out for himself if darkness truly lived past the bark.
Moments laters, the trees blew as if an April tornado was about to lift them by their roots and place them elsewhere. Fox grew scared, stood still, and remembering Owl, listened to what the trees needed to say.
“No darkness here,” as the wind disappeared and the sun shone threw, “only love.”