Rowena and the Oath of the Oak

 "A daughter of human courage and dryad grace, Rowena steps into her destiny as Guardian of the Forest — and finally finds where she belongs."

"Finally, the great day has dawned," thought Rowena as she glanced out her window into the woodland realm of Tir Na Nog. Today was the day she would be knighted as Guardian of the Forest. Smiling, Rowena began to get ready.

As she dressed, she heard a soft knock at her door, followed by a rough voice calling, "Rowena, child, are you ready?" Smiling, she replied, "Yes, Sir Lancel," addressing the badger. "I'll be out in a minute."

Giving her hair a final brush, she stepped out onto the staircase outside her room. "Good morning, Rowena," called a cheerful voice as she made her way down the tree house. Reaching the bottom, she grinned and replied, "Good morning, Kit," to the fox standing beside Sir Lancel.

"Are you ready, child?" asked Sir Lancel. With a nod, she replied.

"Well then, let’s be off," chirped Kit.

She followed them down the green path, past the stream of cool water, and into the depths of Tir Na Nog. While walking, Rowena’s thoughts drifted to her past — her parents and her mentor. A soft smile tugged at her lips as loving memories filled her mind.

Her father, a human, had been a man of great strength, courage, and kindness. Her mother, a dryad, was filled with warmth, love, and grace. They loved each other dearly, and when Rowena was born, it was the happiest day of their lives.

They lived in a small cottage with a flower garden and an orchard of fruit trees. Their life was simple and joyful until a terrible plague gripped the land. Many perished, including her father. Knowing it was too dangerous to stay, her mother took Rowena to live among her own kin — though she knew they would not be warmly welcomed.

They settled in a small hut in a forest clearing. Rowena learned much from her mother — the plants and animals became her friends and confidants. But in time, her mother too passed away, leaving Rowena among kin who wanted nothing to do with a half-breed child.

In her grief and loneliness, Rowena wandered aimlessly into the forest, deeper and deeper, until one day she was discovered by the Guardian of the Forest. He took her in and, seeing her gift with nature, made her his apprentice. Under his guidance, she flourished and was chosen to succeed him.

Returning to the present, Rowena found herself standing before the Great Hall of Oak. Steeling herself, she spotted her friends and her mentor, who stood talking with the council atop the dais.

As the ceremony began, she stepped forward and knelt on one knee before her mentor, reciting the Oath of the Guardians before the council. As her predecessor knighted her, he told her that she had made him proud — and that her parents would have been filled with joy.

With that, the ceremony concluded, and the night's celebration began, honoring Rowena as the new Guardian of the Forest.

A Moment in the Rain

 

People ran for cover as silver drops fell from above. Some faces were full of concentration as they searched for shelter, while others glanced upward, as though the sky dared to inconvenience them while reaching for their umbrellas. But I just stood there in the background, caught under the cascading falls, not wanting to move—held under the spell of the rain’s rhythm.

It poured unrelentingly, thundering off the pavement, so deafening that it drowned out all other noise. A blurry veil encased me, separating me from the world. Longing to feel, I discarded my umbrella and embraced the rain. Soaked to the bone, I stood with my face turned upward, letting the rain wash away the stress and anxiety, feeling it leave my bones and follow the trails of water under gravity’s guidance. My shoulders lighten, as though a heavy weight lifted, and my muscles relax with the smell and feel of the rain.

With a small smile, I chose to have my moment in the rain.


By: Natasha Patrick

The Library

 

Just around the street corner stood a medium-sized brown building with a sign that said LIBRARY. It was nothing spectacular, nor was it extravagant to look at; it was just an ordinary old building, but what it gave to those who needed it, now that was something. It was a cozy sort of place nuzzled away from the hustle and bustle of life, offering reprieve to the weary heart of day-to-day life. And that is where Rowena found herself.

It was late afternoon, and the library was so big that you needed a ladder just to reach the towering bookshelves filled with books that stretched all the way to the ceiling. The library was an old one and hardly anyone goes there anymore, so the floor is covered in piles of books that never get put away.

Time seemed to stand still in this place as soft piano music drifted through the aisles, and the smell of books filled the air, creating a relaxing and peaceful ambiance with an old, somewhat comforting smell. Light comes from large windows with the sun shining through, casting a warm golden glow as Rowena rests her body in a half-circled pile of books next to an old wooden ladder as she lives a thousand lives and travels to many places.

As the day wanes, a ray of sunlight falls gently on half of her sleeping face as she lies there curled up with an open book on her chest, lost in a world of dreams as she climbs the highest mountains, dives beneath the deepest seas, and travels on adventures to unknown lands.

The librarian, a gentle and old soul, whose shadow covers Rowena for a moment before gently ruffling her hair and removing the book, before covering her with his coat. He continues on his way, walking down the aisle, letting her sleep, even though it was past closing time.

Rowena stirred and woke up for but a moment before drifting back to sleep, knowing that she is safe, warm, and right where she belongs

By: NATASHA PATRICK

Haunted Mansion

      As the boy stood there gazing at the desolate and secluded mansion, he began to shiver, as cold air and mist began to envelop his body, he gathered whatever bit of courage he had and pushed open the heavy wrought iron gates that were cold as ice. Fog and mist crept along the ground, flowing like a blanket of white while misty tendrils like fingers coiled at his legs as he walked. The old, uneven cobbled stone path leading up to the mansion was cracked and littered with dead leaves that crunched as he walked. Weeds and flowers poked out from the crackers, while the grass that was probably once a lush green but now a dull, lifeless gray like the very life had been sucked. A little off the path, a pavilion of ghostly white stood like a white tower among the shadows. Thick batches of red rose bushes grew wildly around and webs of vines stretched like tentacles across the pillars.

     By the mansion stood a lonesome weeping willow swaying in the gentle night wind, whose whispers were carried on into the night. The moonlight of luminous silver hue now cast a ghoulish glow upon the mansion as though sadden by what lay there. Shadows of owls skirt across the ground as silent as death, soft chirping of crickets and the howls of dogs sounded into the night, dimming as he went further in and closer to the mansion. As he drew nearer, everything became quieter and distant with each step, glancing over his shoulder and looking back towards the wrought iron gate, he could see that it was quite a great away. The night air was cold to the touch and numbing to the bone, and with every breath taken a misty chilly exhale followed.

    Facing back to the mansion, he could see the aged steps leading to the door. From the outside the mansion was made from woods of oak and pine, giving it a texture that isn't seen much nowadays. The walls were as black as coal, clearly a victim of years of neglect. Window shutters swung hanging from loose hinges in the wind. Near the door lay pots of what were once flowers but now only their wilted remains dropped from the pots. The oak door was left ajar perhaps for many years or just recently.
     As he pushed, the door begrudgingly creaked open, revealing a pungent musky odor that had stricken him into silence. It was dead silent, except for the creaking and moaning wood that echoed throughout the house. Looking up at the ceiling, he could see clusters of black mold that clung to the corners. Entering, he headed to the dim dark living room, it was evident that the windows were black as night with the dust and dirt that clung to it. Beams of sliver moonlight slipped through cracks, casting shadows to dance across the room while chairs and sofas were overturned with floral wallpapers that peeled off the walls, leaving bare patches of rotting wood.

After that, he made his way into the hallway with walls dull green and smelt of dust mixed with old age. Portraits of important and rich people lined the hallway. As he stared at their portraits with a grim and shuddering fascination, he felt a shivering chill run down his back as it felt like their eyes, gaunt and lifeless seemed to follow my every step and gesture. 
     Leaving the hallway, he spotted two rooms, one was a kitchen with plates and cups set up for dinner on a large wooden dining table as though in anticipation of guests that have yet to arrive and the other room was a study room filled with bookcases, with sofas that were stained with stains that looked to be dried blood or rust and mold. A large fireplace at the corner of the room still had the scent of burnt wood that lingered in the air after so many years.

     Coming back out into the hallway, he saw to his left a delicate wooden staircase leading upstairs, he stood there at the base, wondering if any twisted creature would descend down and take him into its lair. Thinking silly, he stepped lightly onto the stairs and made his way up.  Once at the top, he turned to his right and right there was a closed door. Something beckoned for me to take a closer look. Pushing the door wasn't easy as it wouldn't budge as easily as he hoped it would. After several tries it opened just enough to squeeze through and once inside, he could see that a dresser was placed behind it as though to stop anyone from entering, strange but chilling.

 Looking around he shivered as a cold draught passed on through and he could see it was a child's room. Toys and crayons were laying strewn across the floor and the bed had a deep red stain like blood on the sheets. As he took a step closer the wind suddenly picked up causing the trees to rustle with such a force that it slammed against the walls echoing throughout the mansion and the temperature dropped to a sudden chill as the rocking chair in the corner of the room began to move back and forth. 

A shrilling howl suddenly echoed, frozen on the spot and pale as a ghost, he backed into the door and then he heard a voice like the cold breath of a grave, cutting him down to his very soul saying "Get Out!". Slamming the door behind him as fast as he could as terror held him in a vice-like grip, he ran down the stairs and out of the mansion, as the voice echoed, shrilling and wailing, echoing throughout the house and land, following him as he ran out of that place praying that I hadn't woken anything from its slumber. 

 He reached the wrought iron gate and flung it wide open. Once he'd passed through the gates and onto the street, everything had suddenly quieted down, muted, as though nothing had ever happened, not a whisper to be heard. He looked back at the mansion only to see that there was nothing there but an empty land with the ruins of what was once where the mansion had just stood. An eerie chill ran down my spine and decidedly having had enough of an adventure that would last me a lifetime, he left..... never to see that place again...

By: NATASHA PATRICK

INTRODUCTION

Welcome, wanderer of stories.
This blog is where ideas stretch their legs and characters find their voices.
Whether it’s a flash of dialogue, a plot twist that won’t let go, or a world built from ashes and daydreams, this is where I explore the many shapes stories can take.
Some tales are soft. Some bleed. All of them are pieces of me.
Stay awhile, explore the worlds I build, and let the words carry you somewhere unexpected.