Rachel Atwood pdf Walk the Wild with Me pdf Download

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Rachel Atwood pdf Prologue Anno Domini 1158, the fourth year in the reignof King Henry II


Time runs different ’neath the Faery Mound than it does here in Sherwood Forest.” Little John whispered the words so softly they had little more sound than the soft rustling of leaves from a spring breeze. Beside him, the boy Stuck Crouched, peering with him through the bushes at the low FaeryMound. In his youth and innocence, the boy could find wonder ashe looked at the round hill isolated on a flat plain, the patterned stones around the base and the poisonous toadstools that marked it for what it was.Deep despair ran through Little John as his body sought to return to its natural form, to be able to feel the solidity of abranched trunk, his toes becoming roots digging into the nourishing oil, and experience the air dancing among his leaves. It was times like this, so close to the old ways that he had difficulty holding his human form when his heart so longed to return to his tree, a three-hundred-year–old oak. A tree has patience, marking seasons but not years or decades.“Aye,” the boy replied. Only twelve and he had already experienced tragedy, disaster, and loss. The loss of his family to disease—one of the wasting fevers that periodically swept through a village—had led to his displacement from the forest to a human home. Even though his body, once only a shadow of his current self,thrived under the care he received in the Dominican monastery of Locksley Abbey, his soul sought more, driving him incessantly to

seek the Wild Folk. He came by these needs honestly; his great-grandfather, Herne the Huntsman, cherished his mostly human offspring, teaching him the wisdom of the forest.Little John rested a big hand on Tuck’s head, not yet tonsured.He wondered briefly if any but the Wild Folk could see or feel the tiny horn buds beneath his thick bark-brown hair.Tuck huddled in on himself, cradling the tiny silver cup hidden in the deep sleeves of his student robe. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So,so sorry.”Little John heaved a sigh that ran all the way from the rootlets his toes wanted to dig deep, up to his mossy beard and hair.“I love her, you know. Jane. My Jane,” Little John said, as much to reassure himself as to inform the boy. “And she loves me, too.She was running away from her village to come to me. We are meant to be together.”The boy sniffed and nodded. He clenched his fist around the cupso fiercely that Little John feared he’d bend the metal that was the home of the gentle goddess Elena.Little John felt her roll over and bask in the closeness between herself and the boy.

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Rachel Atwood pdf

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