What a weird tree.

The third year wrapped her hands in the ends of her sweater sleeves as she watched its angry branches beat at the cool September air. It was early, before breakfast - Eden still kept up with her morning runs - and dew clung to the grass beneath her feet.

After Elijah had placed her essentially on house arrest in July, Eden had spent more than one long night playing fantasy games on her brother's gaming system. If real life were like those games, then finding this tree would probably be the start of one of those long side-quests that sucked her in and spit her out in the early hours of the morning.

Of course, this was real life - she couldn't go back a save if she fell victim to a tree's anger management problems. So she stayed a few yards back from the branches' reach, listening to the whip-like sound they made as they flailed. Her eyes scanned the willow's roots. She'd heard the stories just like everybody else.