Chapter One
The Rules Nobody Knows
Most people think trees stand still.
That is because most people only watch during the day.
During daylight hours the trees do exactly what they are supposed to do. They hold their branches high. They stretch their leaves toward the sun. They stand quietly in forests, along roads, beside rivers, and on lonely hillsides.
They do this so well that humans have never suspected the truth.
Trees move.
Not often.
Not carelessly.
And never during daylight.
The oldest rule in the world is simple:
A tree must never be seen walking by a human.
That is why the forests become very busy after sunset.
When the moon rises and the last farmhouse lights go dark, roots loosen from the soil. Leaves rustle with excitement. Branches straighten. Entire groves quietly awaken.
Then the trees begin to walk.
Not quickly.
Trees are not in a hurry.
An oak may spend half an hour deciding which foot-root to move first.
Beeches travel in groups.
Pines tend to wander alone.
Willows often get distracted and forget where they were going.
But every tree follows the Rules.
The Rules had existed for so long that nobody remembered who created them.
The First Rule:
Never be seen by humans.
The Second Rule:
Only one tree may leave a grove during the same night.
The Third Rule:
Never travel during rain.
The Fourth Rule:
Leave no tracks.
The Fifth Rule:
When the Tall Trees call, all forests must answer.
Every young sapling learned these rules before they were old enough to travel.
Including Alder.
Alder was the youngest oak in the Three Trees Grove.
The grove sat on a rolling hill overlooking a valley of wildflowers. Travelers passed nearby every day without ever realizing the three giant oaks were alive.
Alder stood between the two elder trees.
On one side was Old Thorn.
On the other stood Grandmother Willowoak.
Together they had watched over the valley for centuries.
Alder had watched sunsets.
He had watched deer.
He had watched birds.
He had watched clouds.
And he was bored.
Terribly bored.
He had never traveled beyond the hill.
Never seen the Deep Forest.
Never visited the River Trees.
Never attended a Gathering of Roots.
Every night he listened to stories from older trees who had wandered the world.
Stories of forests hidden in mountains.
Stories of trees so tall they spoke with eagles.
Stories of ancient groves where stars seemed to hang between the branches.
Alder wanted adventure.
More than anything.
One evening as the sun disappeared behind the western hills, he finally asked.
“Why can’t I travel?”
Old Thorn groaned.
Old trees are very good at groaning.
“Because you are young.”
“I am eighty-three.”
“Exactly.”
Alder shook his leaves in frustration.
Among humans, eighty-three years sounded ancient.
Among trees, it was practically infancy.
Grandmother Willowoak chuckled.
A shower of silver leaves drifted downward.
“Your time will come,” she said.
“That is what you always say.”
“Because it is true.”
“But how will I ever learn anything if I stay here?”
The old trees exchanged a glance.
Alder knew they were speaking through the Root Network.
All trees could do it.
The roots beneath the earth carried thoughts and memories between forests.
Humans believed roots only carried water.
Humans were wrong about many things.
Finally Grandmother Willowoak spoke.
“There may be a way.”
Alder’s branches lifted with excitement.
“What way?”
“The moon will be full tomorrow night.”
“Yes?”
“The River Council is meeting.”
His leaves practically rattled off.
“The River Council?”
Old Thorn nodded.
“They need a messenger.”
Alder could hardly believe what he was hearing.
A real journey.
A real mission.
A chance to leave the hill.
Grandmother Willowoak leaned close.
“But only if you promise to follow every rule.”
“I promise.”
“Every rule.”
“I promise.”
Old Thorn narrowed his eyes.
“That answer was too quick.”
“I mean it.”
The old oak studied him for several moments.
Then he slowly nodded.
Alder felt joy rush through every branch.
Tomorrow night he would leave the hill for the first time.
Tomorrow night he would discover the world.
Far below, in the dark shadows beneath the valley, something else was moving.
Something that did not follow rules.
Something that hated beauty.
Something that hated order.
Something that especially hated trees.
A pair of yellow eyes opened in the darkness.
And smiled.
The trolls had returned.
#TheRealLifeOfTrees #FantasyAdventure #TreesAndTrolls #Storytelling #WonderAndImagination
John Hargrove Seeking Truth and Reality 