Photo credit: Michael Salazar
Jarn shuffled toward the ruffians. Strangers, must be, to not know about the grove.
They’d almost reached the center oak.
“There’s a tavern down the road. Try there.”
The biggest man snorted. “I like it here.”
“You should leave.”
Another mimed alarm. “And if we don’t?”
The trees creaked, groaned, pulling the canopy’s shade closer, looming.
“I’m asking politely.”
They laughed — masking their fear, salvaging their pride — but they left.
Jarn stroked the rough-barked oak. The grove would protect her, long after he died. But until then, he’d help.
Whatever her form, whatever her powers, she was still his daughter.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting, and to Sandra Cook for providing the original photo prompt, below! Click on the link to read the rules and submit your own story, or just read the other entries.
Photo © Sandra Crook