Daughter of Oak

She drifted over the wizard’s upturned palm.

“Greetings, Daughter of Oak,” he said.

The spirit spoke in whispers, an acorn floating within a hooded cloak of curled green leaf. “Merlin, there is danger. A sickness in the trees. And foul, evil men.”

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.

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