Tales of Whispering Oaks
The Solitary Tree
Part 2
By: Chase L. Currie
A few hours later Charity started to come too in a soft bed beside a warm fire, and her wound had been clean along with fresh bandages added to her side. She sat up with pain shooting through her side and found her light leather armor, cloak, and weapons too far across the room for her to reach without getting out of bed.
She glanced around the room seeing stacks and towers of books long with everything else being clean, very clean for being a tree house. Most of the time trees house was dirty and extremely difficult to keep clean. Most the house she been in had a strong odor of sap, but this room smelled of warm meat and nothing else.
She sighed a little biting back the pain when she heard footsteps coming up to the room. There was a soft knock from the other side of the door and then a silent wait.
“Yes?” Charity asked not sure how they knew she was awake.
“May I come in?” the voice asked.
“I believe this is your house,” Charity said. “You can do what you like.”
A dark brown squirrel stuck his head into the room. The squirrel had nasty scars covering his face from one side to the other. It looked as if he had been whipped all over his long face leaving deep trenches in his clean fur.
He held up a plate of juicy meat and fried apples saying, “I brought you some dinner.”
“Thank you,” Charity said eying the food. Most squirrels were not too nice to a Hood either out of the fear or out of hatred. Most of the squirrels would look the other way when a Whispering Hoods came to their door.
“Who are you?” She asked as he slowly made his way into the room.
“I am Ansel Tallstaff the 3rd,” He told her. “I am a Sword Saint, and you are?”
“Charity Glassleaf, a Whispering Hood,” She said.
“That much I gather,” Ansel said setting the plate of food down on the nightstand. “Your wounds were pretty bad.”
“Yeah,” She said taking the plate and the fork with a wince of pain. “The Spellcrafter got me right before he died.”
“By your sword I guess.”
Charity said nothing but give him a flat stare. “He was a Spellcrafter,” Charity coughed. “It was my duty.”
Ansel nodded a little pawing over a cup of water to her. “I know the duties of the Hoods,” He said as Charity took a drink of water. “And you are a little young to be one, might I say.”
She hissed a little, more out of agony than anything else, “The Hoods don’t care about my age. I’m good at what I do.”
She fought back a few tears trying to stay seated up. She bites back the longing to cry out from the tubing hole in her side.
“Let me have this,” Ansel said taking the cup from her. “The blade of was coated in poison called Black Bark, real nasty stuff, but I’ve to deal with the poison before.”
“You have the antidote?” Charity asked leaning back on the pillows.
“Oh,” He smiled at her, “I’ve already given it to you.” He shrugged a little. “You are alive, so I think it is working well.”
“That is good,” She said softly feeling sleep rush over her. She glanced around the room and then asked trying not to pass out, “You like to read?”
“You can say that,” He said laughing a bit pulling the blanket over her.
“You live here alone?”
“Sort of,” Ansel told her before she drifted off to sleep.
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