(a piece of creative writing)
Green is the land I come from. Rocky hills and ancient forests, all green as far your mind can dare to dream.
Legends say that the ancient forests are alive. Not merely alive with creatures clawing, or plants climbing, but alive in its own right — thinking, feeling, moving.
On quiet days, the trees seem to whisper on the edge of the turf, welcoming you, tempting you with cool shade and babbling brooks.
And deep in the trees lies the Green Man
Wild and covered with leaves.
The forest's defense and prisoner,
Lord over all that he sees.
Great is the risk to the traveler
Who knows not the threat of the wood
Else a patch of turf or tree appears
Where once a strong man stood
For great is the task of the Green Man
And old is the power he welds
Doom to the corrupt and careless
Only virtuous may gain his shield.
Once while riding through the wood, I came across an elderly man, bent with age, cloaked and leaning on rough-hewn yew cane. I paused to offer him a lift on my steed, but he gently refused. I asked if there was anything else I could do for him, if he had kin that might be missing him I could call upon. He shook his head, and thanked me for my kindness. Unable to aid him, I continued on.
Further down the path, the thicket ahead shook and I slowed my mount.
Silence. Cautiously I pushed forward. Rustle. Crack.
Then a tumultuous noise surrounded me. With a shrill cry, my horse bucked, tossing me from my seat. Brigands. Thieves. Dirty, hairy men with knives drawn closed in toward me while others grab my mount.
Six against one, and I unarmed. I eyed the blade and bow strapped firmly to my saddle. I closed my eyes and steadied my breath, readying myself to claw, kick, bite, even though I knew it to be in vain.
A scream. I opened my eyes to witness the thug before me drop heavily to the ground, a single bolt protruding from his back. The men paused. Their countenance paled.
One by one they turned to run. Four more fell to my mysterious savior. The last mounted my horse and pounded away down the road.
I looked up to see a form jump down from the trees. Tall and cloaked in green, spattered with mud, the figure moved toward me.
"You are safe."
There was no sound, yet I heard the words form in my mind. "You are safe, I do not seek to harm you."
He stretched a callused hand out to me. Still in shock, I took it and he lifted me to my feet.
Reaching up he lowered his hood. His countenance was tan and scarred beneath a beard as brown as the dirt on his cloak. In contrast, his eyes were soft and kind, mirroring the brilliant green of the trees. Despite his rough appearance, he was not much older than myself. His knotted hair was tied back, and in it I noticed a hint of green.
I managed a "thank you" and shook the dust from my skirts. He smiled and spoke, "you showed me kindness, I merely returned it."
I looked up sharply. "When did I..." Then I saw it. The cloak was the same that had clothed the old man. As I watched he took the bow from his back and turned it, revealing the cane of yew.
"You offered me a ride, let me do you the same curtesy." He whistled sharply. From the wood appeared a white hart, larger than any stag I had seen before.
Lifting me up, he placed me carefully on the animal's back. I wrapped my arms cautiously around its neck and heard
"Take her home."
In an instant the beast dove into the trees. I thought sure I would be torn from its back, but no branch came near, no bush seemed to hinder him. The forest seemed to move to oblige the stag.
Once home, I dismounted, patted the beast's side and made my way up the walk. When I turned back, the stag was gone.
My family thought me over tired and distressed, not believing the story I told. An illusion, a fantasy.
In the weeks that followed, I traversed the woods in search of my rescuer, to no avail. In the night I heard his voice in the trees, calling to me.
One evening as darkness settled around the edges of the turf, I heard a familiar sound. Near the wood stood my lost steed. He whinnied a greeting to me. I patted his neck and he lent on me, turning toward the trees. I paused, uncertain. A wisp of wind caught my ear.
"Ride."
I mounted and rode,
For I am in love with The Green Man.
Deep in the forest of trees.
He is my defender, my heart, my breath.
From him I will never leave.
