It was cooler beneath the boughs, but still warm. Again she made her way into the woods, passing the area where she had found the mushrooms and then the roots, she ventured deeper and deeper. On she went until at last: the light over head glowed a warmer green, each step drew her from the verdant canopy to one punctuated with golden shafts of light.
Standing on the perimeter of a large clearing, she paused surveying the near perfect circle, she repaired her hair, which had gone askew while passing beneath many-a limb, leaf and needle. She walked into the clearing, it was furnished with prone logs about six strides from the treeline. In between these natural benches and closer to the center were several charred remnants of fires long since extinguished (spirals had been etched in the ashes whilst someone was checking for lingering embers). At the center was a dais of sorts: a turfed mound, with hexagonal stones around it. These stones were arranged in sets of two short, two medium, and two taller, placed around the large mound ( looking a bit like a wave pattern) but in actuality the stones served as multiple sets of stairs going up to the flattened top of the mound. The mound itself was not very high off the floor of the clearing, but anyone on the mound could easily be seen and heard. (The acoustics were somewhat of a marvel to Petra although she had been here many times). On the far side were three unique trees, beautiful as three points on a crown.
Stepping out into the sunlight she made her way to the mound ( not walking too close) she continued to the far and opposite of where she entered the clearing. She stopped, set her basket down and tilted her head up, shielding her eyes with her hand, she admired the massive Wych Elm- straining to take in it's height ( a long standing homage of hers since she was a wee lass.) She thought how interesting it was,( given they are often seen near graveyards). To it's left was a lovely Yew and to the right a graceful Willow. She stood remembering times with her parents, one or the other craning their necks. She began rubbing her neck , then laughed a loud at herself. Shaking off her nostalga, she went to the Willow, working swiftly around the circumference and it's bottom most appendages. She removed, and gathered the whip-like pieces. Having gathered a sizable pile, she removed her skirt, put them into the skirt, and tethered it all together with her rope. She took her rock and apple and began filing and sealing all the wounded ends. By the time she had finished, the tree had a nice trim , she had a good bundle and she was hot and tired. Taking a long draught from her water bladder, she made her way under the low hanging limbs of the Elm. She turned her back against the trunk and sliding down it she came to rest on a peculiar root that substituted for a stool. Petra had sat here more times than she could remember. Before ceremonies and rituals, she had been brought to this very spot, sometimes her mother stayed, but more often, she was left alone with very specific instructions not to move. She remained hidden there, but she had a clear view of all that proceeded. She particularly remembered the dancing and music, she often dozed into an oblivious slumber, before these rituals grew intense, ( but we shall not indulge in thoughts of such things). She would wake long before others and only then - make her way to her prayers and oblations.
As Petra sat in the sanctuary and comfort, she began to cool off, "WHAT !" her mind shrieked - she heard a crack in the distance behind her, and another and another. Another series of cracks came closer accompanied by the rattle of metal, into the fourth series of noises her could hear the creaking of leather as well. By this time she had slid down ( like a melted candle) at the foot the Elm, her pin removed, she gave the slightest shake to her head and her hair flowed over her bowed head covering her face and shoulders. In her praying position with her arms tight under her chest, she traded the pin to her left hand. Her tawny head, beige blouse and underskirt made her look somewhat like a large embedded rock, she remained motionless trying to breath very slowly through her nostrils. The footfalls and movements of three men fit with battle gear came closer and closer. Almost lifeless, Petra remained there until she heard the men move towards the mound, she dared only the lowest of breaths (remembering the acoustics) and tilted her head up only slightly to see the men through the mop of her hair and the low secretive branches. ( Now she had a glimmer of understanding: of those years of training, alone in silence under these very limb, oh this was truly a sanctuary and without a hint of her "....presence !"( - again her mind shrieked). ("OH NO ! please yeh blundering clods, don' look back !") . Petra was out of view, but her basket, bundle and the tree's new trim could give it away. They might start searching ...... anxiety swelled within her, but she willed herself to return to those nights, there alone, willing a slumber to take her away. Well practiced, she could almost hear the music, and feel the rhythm of the dance, ( Ah yes...) as her eyes began to close again into thin slits she saw the well worn paths in the turf... from those dancing feet ... ( bliss washed over her as head tilted slowing down) "...FEET !!!" Slumber broke away and reality wrenched the word from her lips. Banshee- like wails pierced her quietness spewing out of her unbidden, the sound provoked her to instant motion. Clueless the ghastly sounds emanated from her own pipes. Petra bolted: not from... but to... the mound, the feet she saw were not part of a vision or memory, but a tall man dressed in buckskin as a scout, long legs, bare feet and great long hands, moving t'wards her. Swift and deliberate she took long strides for the mound, but the long legged man was upon her, grasping her by the shoulders, hard. The momentum of the two sent them both down like a caber. Petra slid forward whilst the man fell in a heap. Still on the move, she went for the mound, just starting to realize the wails were her own: she also saw the other three men standing stock still, mouths agape and eyes wide and startled, (" These men are STARTLED!") the thought. She had seen that look before, here in this clearing. She knew, only too well, how few and precious were the moments one had to act. While they were still gaping at the spectacle, Petra made it to the mound, but she went sprawling, while trying to climb up the hexagonal stones........
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