Return

A white gravel path curved towards the house like a discarded ribbon. It's twists and turns a reluctance to reach its destination The house was old at least in parts well over 300 years had passed since the masons had honed their craft on its pristine stones. It stood in the centre of over 100 acres of park and woodland, it was said that the woods had once covered the whole site and had been in existence before the spread of Christianity had caused those who worshipped the ancient deitys to hide their beliefs. Huge Oaks with great boughs, like the flying buttresses of arborial cathedrals stood like sentinels, watching outward.Behind them hornbeam and blackthorn, with knotted and twisted limbs barred entry to the green heart of the woodland world.

A shadow flickered and melted from under an oak and reformed on the gravel path. The moon passing from cloud into empty sky caught the shadow giving it shape and life. A human form in a dark cloak and cowl, moving silently towards the deeper darkness that surrounded the old building. A light breeze carried the rustling of a multitude of leaves,up into the night air like the chattering of roosting birds. The figure on the path stopped head inclined as if listening, small clouds of vapour betraying the presence of breath rose upwards from inside the cowl.