Young Writers Society

It seemed that time did not exist in that forest, or if it did, it went so slowly that if one waited a hundred years within it one would not have grown a minute older by the time one left it.

She loved the feeling – it was like warm water seeping through her skin, into her very core, and soaking her in its soft presence.

No matter what she might be wearing – although she had only one piece of clothing – she could not be seen when up a tree.

“Morgan, are you all right?” His voice seemed to be fading. “Morgan, what is wrong?” Fading into the distance …

Prologue

It is cold and dark.

Where am I?

The trees close in about her like faceless wraiths. I thought this was in first person?
What are they?

The wolves howl a mournful slow dirge/sad song. A dirge is a sad or mournful song. There isn't need for the 'mournful.'

Please let them stay away …

The soft breeze sighs and the wood moansand whispers.

They are only trees …

The moon’s shiningsilver no need for the 'shining' when you use 'silver' afterwards. Just about all silver things shine. face is concealed behind a veil of dark clouds.

Please let it come out … please …

Boughs form dark shapes and mists the mist drifts into shapeless figures.

It is just an illusion … they are not real …

They are coming closer … she cannot escape …

What do you want?

She cannot escape …

Leave me alone!

YOU CANNOT ESCAPE … I understand that whole scene is meant to be dramatic and drag the reader into the story, but it's a little confusing as well.

Elnari collapsed in a sobbing, bedraggled heap upon the forest floor. Her mind was in turmoil, her limbs trembling with fear and fatigue. She did not know where she was, whether it was night or day erm, wouldn't she figure it out by opening her eyes for a sec? … she could not even remember her own name if this is true, then although this is in third-person it would be better to refer to her as 'the girl' and not use 'Elnari'. It adds suspense to the story. Her breath came in short, tortured gasps and strangled with sobs. Her matted hair fell over covered her face like a curtain but she did not attempt to brush it away. She could not think, and she did not care about anything. She screwed up her eyes, waiting for the wolves to attack, for the trees to close in on her, for the wraiths to envelop her … She was certain that she was going to die, or be driven mad by the nameless fear that threatened to engulf her entire being …

Afterwards She could not have said how long she lay there on her bed of rotten leaves, sobbing and gasping, her heart rent with fear Unnecessary. We know all of these things. It seemed that time did not exist in that forest, or if it did, it went so slowly that if one waited a hundred years within it one would not have grown a minute older by the time one left it this description is very long and breaks the flow of the sentence. Perhaps you could have written: 'it went so slowly that one wouldn't age a day in a hundred years.' Or simply: 'it went so slowly.'.
After what seemed like an eternity, the wolves stopped howling and a dead silence fell over the woods. The silence was not that of a peaceful sleep or a moonlit night. It was the silence of death and terror – stone cold fear – a silence as cold as a gravestone. Elnari felt it in the air; she sensed it in her mind 'mind' sounds odd here. I was expecting something else...I'm not sure what exactly. It weightedweighed down her heart like lead and she feared to look up lest she be struck dead by terror this seems a bit drastic, perhaps you should use something else like: 'lest the wraiths see her'.

Through Elnari’s mind raced a myriad of fevered thoughts, each one inspired by dread, darkness and sudden death. The silence seemed to intensify with every passing moment, and she jerked violently at every snap of a twig, every rustle of the branches surrounding her. Although she never looked up, her mind formed horrific scenes of what might be happening. She imagined, in her delirium, the trees creeping closer to surround her, and every creak of a bough convinced her that they were coming closer, lifting their roots from the ground and creeping forward. The trees developed hideous faces: gnarled, twisted faces that displayed menace and hatred in every groove of bark, every crease and hollow. Elnari wanted to scream and to run, to escape from these monstrous fiends of death Not necessary, for we've established several times that they mean to kill her. How many innocent travellers had they consumed in their blind, purposeful Blind and purposeful? By 'blind' I assume you mean they did it for no reason, but then when you say 'purposeful' I assume you mean that they did do it for a reason. The words contradict each other and leave the reader confused. You need to get rid of one or the other. murder? How many had fallen victim to their cold, dark eyes; the pure terror they inspired?

A sudden, very loud snap caused Elnari to cry out and leap to her feet, trembling from head to foot.

She found that she could not see even a foot in front of her. The pale glow that had shone dimly through the clouds was gone without a trace Earlier, you said she did not know whether it was night or day. You also said she never looked up. So how did she see the 'pale glow that had shone dimly through the clouds', and which suggests that it is daytime?. The dead silence pressed upon her eardrums. Cold fear struck her. It was not like before A new, different fear struck her. This one was real, paralyzing terror. Elnari could not have described it if she had wanted to 'real, paralyzing terror' is technically a description.

She stopped shivering. Her limbs fell limply to her sides. She felt cold; cold and clammy, and her knees felt suddenlyweak, as though her bones had simply melted into oblivion A tad over-descriptive to the point where it sounds strange. Melted into oblivion? Maybe you should just get rid of the whole underlined part. And then her eyes widened and her face contorted into a dreadful expression, mouth agape in a silent scream. Her eyes Shesaw nothing, but she felt it in the air, she heard it through the pounding in her eardrums That sounds a little odd. Perhaps you should say: 'from deep inside the forest'.. Something was moving. Fast. Although it made barely a rustle, her ears picked up the sound of leaves moving across the ground. As the sound grew louder, her limbs maybe it's just me, but when I see the word 'limb' I immediately think of animals. It just doesn't sound quite right. Perhaps you could just say 'her body tensed and shook'. It sounds better, and if you think about it, makes more sense. tensed and shook, and she uttered a silent moan A silent moan? I don't think that's possible. To go with the image you're trying to convey, use a word like 'distressed' or 'fearful' instead. The darkness was deepening. As the thing approached, her surroundings seemed to close in around her, smothering her. She could not breathe. She could not think. All she was aware of were the soft the use of such a dainty word as 'soft; here ruins the dark scene of terror the reader is imagining in reading the story rustlings all around and the trembling of the ground.

And then it laughed. The sound was terrible; a low, moaning I know they're quite a bit apart, but this seems a bit repetitive because of the 'moan' you used above. Try: 'a low, grating/ scraping/ groaning sound' sound that throbbed in the air. It rose and fell, and reverberated around inside Elnari’s skull. The sound was not loud, but it resonated through the whole forest as a bellow, filled with all the menace and cruel mirth of an ancient being, so filled with memory and long held grudges that Elnari felt as small as a babe. She stood there, enchanted by fear, listening to the melodious rumble in the air until at last, whether by some devilry or sheer exhaustion, her mind went blank, she fell to the ground and she knew no more.


Chapter One: Morgan


“Morgan!”

“I am not coming down, even if that’s what you want.”

“Morgan, show yourself this instant.”

“No.”

“You will do as you are told, young lady, and nothing besides.”

“Well, I’ve told myself that I’m going to stay here. For my whole life. Forever One word.”

“Well, I’m telling you to come down.”

“Well, 'Well' is getting slightly repetitive I don’t care what you think you’re telling me to do, because I've told myself that I wouldn’t won't tell anyone that they could let anyonetell me what to do, and therefore you telling me to come down just won’t work!”

“It had better.”

“Or what?”

“Or I get my axe right now, and chop this tree down.”
Morgan’s golden head Is her complexion golden, or are you actually trying to refer to her hair? appeared between two branches. It scrutinized the man underneath her beneath with sceptical eyes.

“You wouldn’t,” said Morgan eventually.

“I would,” assured the man assured her, relieved that he had finally touched bottom I'm going
to guess that expression is a local one from wherever you come from. Personally, I've never heard of it.

“You wouldn’t dare,” insistedsaid Morgan. “Mother would kill you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the man.

“Prove me wrong!”

“What if I kill her first?” Is this guy violent or abusive or something? Because this seems an extreme thing to say.
There was a loud rustling sound, and within a few moments Morgan appeared, sliding down the trunk. She ran to the man and folded her arms, a serious frown creasing her brow.

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“Yet you came down.”

“I came down because I was hungry.”

“Oh, so you’re not going to stay up there for the rest of your life?”

“I never said that.”

The odd twosome struck'walked'. I've yet to see anybody 'strucking down a road' down the road at a leisurely pace. The man, who was Morgan’s father, swung her onto his shoulders.

“Well, I don’t care if you stay up there for forever and day, but you are not going back until you have done your chores.”

“I knew it!”

“You knew what?”

“I knew you only wanted me to come down to do my chores.”

“Of course I did. Why else would I disturb the peace of the Queen of the sacred Elnari Tree?”

Morgan gave a dramatic gasp and almost toppled off her father’s shoulders.

“Careful, you little monkey!” Her father grabbed her just in time and pulled her back up. “You’ll end up killing yourself one day.” This is odd to say to a little child (I get the impression that Morgan is a little child?). Maybe you should have him say 'hurting yourself' instead.

Morgan acted as if nothing had just happened.

“How did you know?” she said instead.

“Well, the way you keep behaving – ’’

“No, no! How did you know about the Tree?”

“I cannot possibly miss it. You've spent half your life up that old tree.”

“But its name, how did you know its name?”

“Why, you've spent the other half of your life talking about it!”

“I do have?” Morgan looked puzzled for a moment, and then relaxed into her old cheeky grin. “Well, as a
man who spends half his life in his shed and the other half talking about it, you are hardly the one to talk!”


It seems like some time has passed. Perhaps you should put some kind of sign in the space above, like # or ***** or something. “Katrina, I found her!” Morgan and her father had arrived at their old tumbled-down shack, and, in the absence of a door, her father was knocking on the wall and shouting through the doorway. They don't have a door? Why did he knock at all, then? He only needed to walk inside.

A rather forceful voice rang through the hallway. “Found, aye, Ah. By using 'aye', I hope you realise that you've made a big commitment. 'Aye' has now become commonplace in your story. 'Yes' and can't exist alongside 'aye' and though it can be used 'no' would sound strange sometimes. Are you absolutely sure you're ready for this commitment?” it said, “but in ‘ow many pieces, is what I’d like to know!”

Morgan’s mother, Katrina, appeared in the hallway, a filthy rag in hand. She was attempting to clean a grimy bowl, but only managing to turn it a darker shade of brown than before. She surveyed the two keenly, her sharp eyes roving over her daughter’s shaggy appearance – the knotted hair, complete with twigs and leaves, the dirty face and the filthy clothing told all.

“You’ve bin'been'. I understand that you're spelling it as Katrina is saying it, but with the way she pronounces other words the reader should be imaginative enough to figure that out. There are certain words you can spell out as the character pronounces them, but personally I don't think 'been' is one of them.climbin’ in that darned tree again,” she observed shortly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from there? Ya filthy ragamuffin of a girl. When will ye learn? Ah’ve told ye agin an’ agin an’ a hundred times over. Aye, that I ‘ave. but do ye listen? No, sirree, ye don’t!” She bustled off down the hall, muttering to herself and shaking her head.

Morgan stared after her in a confused manner.

“Why doesn’t she like my tree, Father?”

Morgan’s father looked at her fondly. “I expect it is because she is jealous.”

He whispered the last word with all the secrecy of a furtive conspirator plotting with his allies. I like this sentence. It reminds us that this is father and child.

Morgan looked aghast. “No,” she gasped. “Not Mother.”

Her father gave her a grim look.

“If only you knew all the facts,” he said elusively.

He then jumped a mile the exaggeration sounds odd here in the air as a stern voice boomed right beside him.

“Not plottin’ mutiny, I ‘ope, John?” Katrina certainly looked very menacing in her voluminous giant/ large. 'Voluminous' does not fit in with the flow of the story, for until now you've been using fairly simple words we have become comfortable with. However, 'voluminous' sticks out like a sore thumb. apron. The impression was enhanced by the rather large wooden ladle she held in her hand. Of course, it might have helped that she had been stirring tomato soup with it a moment before, although Morgan did not know this and hoped that that her last victim had not suffered much.

“Plotting?” Her father looked aghast. “Mutiny? Perish the thought! I was merely having a moment of father-daughter time with Morgan.”

Morgan was hauled up heldin front of him, in a similar manner to a shield. The ladle certainly looked very menacing as it waved within two inches of her nose.

“Now, John, stop puttin’ ridiculous ideas inna the last two letters make her now seem Italian or something...get-ta these-a meatballs in-na my food outta 'ear! this gal’s ‘ead. If you ain’t careful, she’ll end up just like you!” Katrina glared at Morgan as if daring her to defend her father. “An’ we don’t want that, do we now, girl?”

“No, Mother,” said Morgan cheerfully.

“Good. Now, come an’ help me with lunch.” Katrina set off down the hallway again. Morgan trailed behind, feeling like an ill-fated pig being led off to the slaughter house. She cast a pleading look over her shoulder at her father before disappearing into the kitchen.

Morgan found her mother bentdoubled over, reaching into one of the numerous store-cupboards that riddled the walls like rabbit burrows. She waited fearfully as Katrina cursed and muttered to herself, letting her eyes wander over to the large copper pot on the wooden bench, and the un-chopped vegetables that lay beside it like condemned criminals. Morgan wondered what poor soul had fallen victim to the cruel ladle of her mother, and silently swore that however many vegetables were added to the ghastly mixture, she was never going to eat it.

Morgan grew slightly alarmed when her mother extricated herself from the cupboard and emerged clenching a very long, very sharp knife in one fist. As Katrina approached her daughter purposefully, Morgan began to wonder if the victim had not yet been killed. Anyhow, it was likely to be over pretty soon anyway. She slowly backed away, but her mother beat her to the door.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, young lady.”

Morgan was shepherded towards the wooden bench. On her mother’s face was an expression of grim intent. Morgan winced as her mother raised the knife for the fatal blow and pointed it at her chest.

“Now,” she said triumphantly, “start chopping.”

*

Despite any resolutions Morgan had made earlier, she ended up sitting at the dining table half an hour later, a bowl of tomato soup before her. Her insistence that she was not hungry had done absolutely nothing to manipulate change her mother's opinion. The only sympathy she had received had been rather poor: her father had said, “Well, look on the bright side. It can hardly be any worse than the fried chicken eyes we’re having tomorrow!”

Morgan dolefully watched her mother slurp enormous spoonfuls of the rather lumpy mixture, apparently relishing it. Her father prodded his gingerly with a spoon, and looked rather queasy when it made a squelching noise and wobbled.
Morgan glared suspiciously down at her own. She could have sworn that it was slowly moving, bubbling to the surface.

“Mother,” she said tentatively, “the soup’s moving.” She poked it with a finger and a large slice of celery slid off the top.

“Don’t be an idiot, girl. It’s perfectly fine.”

Morgan was quite aware of that. It was the thought of eating it that made her stomach lurch.

Looking up, she saw that her mother had gone back to eating. Sudden inspiration struck, and glancing around furtively, she tipped the whole bowl down the front of her dress. Morgan experienced a horrible sensation as the mixture dribbled over her chest, down her legs and dripped slowly onto the floor. She smiled brightly as her father looked up, and made a pretense of licking the bowl.

But her father was not interested in that. The first tiny amount of soup dropped from his spoon, and his mouth fell open.

“My God,” he gasped. “What on Earth happened?”

Morgan glanced hastily down at her dress, which had been stained a bright red by the tomato juice. She shifted the bowl casually up to the stain, hiding it from view. Again, she smiled cheerily.

“Oh, that’s my new dress,” she invented wildly. “Mr. Sandy gave it to me for – for my birthday. Don’t you remember?”
She started edging her chair back across the floor. It seemed a hasty escape would soon be required. But her father rose and stared at her.

“No it isn’t,” he whispered. “That’s blood! Morgan, what happened?”

But Morgan was already at the door.

“Blood? Nonsense, Father. It’s just a bit of a … a stain …”

John started hurrying towards her.

“My God, what have you done? What … what are we going to do?”

“It’s alright, Father. Really.” Morgan started edging around the doorframe, soup dripping from her dress with every step.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, young lady! Come back here now.” It was her mother. She had risen from her place at the table and was advancing with long steps. Now was the time to cut and run. Morgan disappeared around the doorframe and sprinted. Out of the front door, through the overgrown hedge and down the dirt road, as fast as her short legs could carry her.

Morgan stopped for breath about a hundred meters down the road, and, thanking the Heavens for her parents’ stumpy
legs, proceeded at a more leisurely pace.

She came eventually to the junction. This was where the country road joined up with the more well-trodden road that led to Charicadd Square, and the town that shared its name. It was there that John went to sell his wares. He was a carpenter
and created the most beautiful figures out of wood. The trouble was, there was hardly anybody wealthy or sympathetic enough to buy them. When somebody did, the money was enough to last about two weeks before the family relapsed into their previous state of poverty.

It was also here, at this junction, that Morgan could find a very familiar landmark. This was in the form of a very old, gnarled tree. It stood right on the roadside, its thick roots protruding forward onto the path like the vines of a creeper, seeking to choke all in its path. At some points the roots threaded through the ground like thread on a needle I don't think this is the right comparison, disappearing underneath the dustearthand reappearing a couple of yards acrossaway from the path.

Morgan smiled as she spotted the tree. The sight always filled her with joy and comfort, but there was also another feeling that she could never quite explain. It was as if she and the tree shared something, a deep secret and understanding that reached very far back, deep within the vaults of history. She knew that the impression was childish, but she could never quite shake it off.

Putting aside her thoughts, she ran to the tree as if it were a long-lost friend. Reaching it, she stroked the rough bark fondly. She whispered gently to the tree and pressed her ear against the trunk as if listening for something. The feel of the trunk was strong and firm, and it was warmed by the sun. As always, she could hear the steady pounding of blood in her ears, and as always she could hear…I got rid of the spaces here for you. They're not necessary. something else. It was very hard to detect, but it was still there – a steady throbbing, or humming, that emanated from the bark and seemed to issue from the very heart of the tree.

Morgan stood there listening for a while – the sound was so soothing, so strangely familiar – and then pulled her head away from the trunk and started to climb. It seemed, as always, that the trunk formed footholds wherever her feet landed, and that the branches reached down to pull her up. She almost floated up the tree, her arms hauling herself up as easily as if she were a feather.

Reaching what she fondly called ‘the living room’--which was a wide, flat platform closest to the lowest branches--Morgan sat down and turned her face towards the sun, feeling its soft rays upon her rough skin. She loved the feeling – it was like warm water seeping through her skin, into her very core, and soaking her in its soft presence.

After a while, as was her nature, Morgan grew bored of the stillness, and started to climb again. She climbed much higher this time, reaching a special fork between two thinner branches. This was where her father had found her earlier on. She had chosen to hide there because of its extreme seclusion and shelter – the leaves were so thick at this point; it was impossible for anyone on the path below to spy a little fair-haired girl nestled between two branches. More than that, though, it was as if, whenever Morgan was in this tree – or any tree, really – she was camouflaged perfectly by withthe bark and green leaves. No matter what she might be wearing – although she had only one piece of clothing – she could not be seen when up a tree.

It was for these reasons, coupled with her silence, that when the strangers passed by underneath her – not on the road but in the bush – they neither saw her nor perceived that she was there.

Neither could Morgan distinguish them properly. They were like men, hooded and cloaked, yet they hunched over so that they seemed children, and their cloaks seemed more like their skin or shrouds of shadow than pieces of clothing. They did not say any distinguishable words, but Morgan’s sharp ears could catch a very soft, varying humming sound. Morgan felt strangely soothed by it, and soon she found herself swaying gently to the ‘music’, as her ears perceived it, and it was only the strong arm of her tree that prevented her from falling. Indeed, as she swayed, her ear pressed against the branch, and, stronger than ever, the much deeper, much more reassuring hum of the Elnari tree penetrated her eardrums. Morgan stopped swaying immediately, and suddenly the voices of the strangers came clear to her ears, and they were no longer soothing, but cold and purposeful. It seemed as though the Elnari tree was giving her the benefit of its ears, as it could understand all languages, vile and fair. And Morgan perceived their words:

From land of woe
To land of foe
With voices sweet
And hearts that reek
By Evil’s hand
Far from His land
Our candles call
And strong men fall.


From world of hell
To gilded Bell
With lights that shine
And hearts of slime
Intent to kill
Held by His will
Condemned to life
Bound by the Knife. Great rhyming here. It not only makes sense but adds to the flow of the story.

Morgan’s breath caught in her throat. Her blood pounded frantically in her ears, and she quickly pulled her head viciously away from the tree branch, unable unwilling to hear 'hear' sounds better than bear'. The reader doesn't yet know why she is reacting like this (at least I don't) so 'hear' is fine. any more of the terrible verse. She knew now that the soothing humming was no more than a façade, and their evil words revealed their intent. What intent, exactly? They kill strong men? You need to make this sudden fear clearer.

She wanted to scream, to tear away from the tree and run, run as fast as she could. She wanted to warn her family before these foul beings reached the town.

But before Morgan could make a move, the sound was gone without a trace. It had vanished along with any trace of the shadowy figures.

Morgan sat there, heart pounding like a frantic animal behind the bars of her ribcage, for what seemed like an eternity.

Then her senses returned, and she climbed faster than ever she had before she climbed up the tree then slid down the trunk? Perhaps you should get rid of this part., slid down the trunk and ran.

As she ran, she thought. From land of woe you should italicize these excerpts to show that they are thoughts. Not always necessary, I know, but useful and practical here. … they came from the Dark lands … to land of foe … they wereareenemies … with voices sweet … that humming … but hearts that reek … that muchpartwas obvious …

By the time Morgan had figured out most of the vile poem, she had reached her home. Racing through the door, she collapsed onto the table and gasped, quite out of breath. Not a second had passed before she felt strong hands lift her, and she found herself staring into the anxious face of her father.

“Morgan, are you all right?” His voice seemed to be fading. “Morgan, what is wrong?” Fading into the distance …

Morgan was abruptly aroused by a splash of very cold, very refreshing water. She gasped, and her eyes flew open.

“Father,” she whispered, breathless. “There were … three of them… they – they were hunched like … like children … they want to … to kill somebody, Father …” It seemed very important that he know immediately.

But John was not interested.

“We figured out what happened to your soup,” he smiled, and then frowned again. “But that is no excuse for what you did – leaving us sick with worry, thinking that you were going to go off and die somewhere …”

“No, Father. You do not understand. That’s not important anymore. They are going to kill someone, Father!”

John frowned. He obviously thought that she was trying to scare him.

“Now, stop your fibbing,” he scolded. “Nobody is trying to kill us.”

“But, Father …”

“No ‘buts’! You are to go off to your room right now and calm down, or I will make you. Understand? Off you go!”

“But … where is Mother?”

“She went out looking for you. See the trouble you have caused, you and your foolish little tricks?”

“Oh no,” gasped Morgan. Without a second thought, she was again out of the room and out the door.

“Morgan! Come back here immediately, young lady!” But her father’s cries fell on deaf ears. Morgan was already halfway down the garden path.

Soon she came to the road, and without stopping for breath, ran on. It was not long before she reached the Charicadd
Town junction, and here she stopped. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Surely she had not walked all the way to the town?

Glancing from side to side, Morgan decided that the best way to find her mother would be to climb the Elnari tree and try to see her. If she was anywhere near, Morgan would find her. The Tree was by far the tallest for miles around and one perching at the very top would be able to see for just as far.

So Morgan began climbing. This time she did not stop to listen to the tree, but carried on hauling herself up, branch by branch, until she was higher than she had ever been before. As her head breached the very top branches, a breathtaking scope of the landscape was laid out before her. It was as though she was a giant, observing a beautiful map crafted by the gods themselves for her very own viewing leisure. But Morgan was not interested in the view. As she scanned the dull twilit forest below her, she caught – or fancied she caught – a glimmer of light, far away and deep in the forest. She glared hard at the spot for at least two minutes, but the light did not appear again. Just as she was ready to look somewhere else, Morgan caught it again, a little further away this time. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted with all her might. “MOTHER!”

The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

“MOTHER! MOTHER! MOTHER!” Morgan yelled and yelled, willing her mother to hear her.

Then something completely unexpected happened. There seemed to be a disturbance in the air around the spot the light had disappeared. The wind stirred up the treetops and birds flew into the air, crying madly. Then the wind seemed to change direction. It advanced rapidly towards Morgan, sending up a storm of birds and tearing down trees in its path. Morgan opened her mouth in a silent scream, her eyes opening wide as the storm approached. Suddenly something equally unexpected happened. The bark beneath her fingers began to vibrate and throb, the sensation growing with every passing moment. Soon it was audible; a long, low throbbing that filled her head with sound. It grew and grew until the entire forest vibrated with it, and Morgan’s grasp on the tree went limp. She closed her eyes as she fell.

*


“Morgan.”

Morgan heard the voice, but she did not perceive its meaning, nor did she care what it said.

“Morgan, listen to me.”

Morgan knew the voice. She was sure that she knew it. It sounded very familiar, but she could not put her finger on it.

“Morgan, wake up, gal!”

Morgan’s eyes flew open. Sure enough, her mother’s face was floating above her, anxious eyes peeing keenly into her own.

“Oh, thank the gods, Morgan,” she sighed. “I thought you was dead, I did.”

“Mother …”

“Shush. You just had a nasty fall; ya shouldn’t be wastin’ your breath.”

“But Mother, what … what happened …”

“No need ta be botherin’ yourself with that, young lady. Now, if you’ll just try ta stand up for me …”

Morgan tried, but her legs collapsed underneath her.

“That’s it,” said her mother. “Take it easy … I only need ye to lift yourself a bit … good … there!”

Her mother hauled her to her feet. She then hoisted her daughter onto her back and took a few stumbling feet forward.

“I feel a bit weak meself, ye see …” Katrina why did you stop referring to her as 'mother'? If it's because this is now Katrina's POV, you need to change the above bit about Morgan, because it looks like it's from her POV. grunted and pushed forward, up the grassy bank by the roots of the Elnari tree.

Soon she and her small bundle reached the road, where they found John looking around, obviously very anxious. His jaw dropped as he saw the two of them.

“Why … Katrina … Morgan … what …?” He hurried forward, relieving his wife of her burden. He laid Morgan gently down on
the ground. She had clearly fainted. He looked up at his wife with wide eyes. “What happened?”

“Fell,” was Katrina’s abrupt reply.

John’s eyes travelled up the trunk of the Elnari tree, to the very highest branches where Morgan had been.

“My God,” he said softly. “Come on, we need to get her home.”

As Katrina clearly lacked some of her former strength, her husband took it upon himself to carry his daughter home. By the time they were back, it was pitch black. Morgan had reawakened and was breathing normally.

After a thorough examination of her, to ensure that she had suffered no broken bones – “It’s a bloody miracle,” said her mother – Morgan was allowed to lie down in her room and rest, though not without many reassurances that she was ‘in for it’ tomorrow.

‘Rest’ was the last thing that Morgan wanted to do. Now it seems you've switched back to Morgan's POV. There should be some sort of indication. She lay awake on her narrow bed in the smothering dark, thinking and worrying. Thinking about the most puzzling lines of the evil verses she had heard earlier – our candles call and strong men fall … condemned to life, bound by the knife – what was that all about? And worrying – worrying about where the little hunched figures were now, worrying about her mother … did they really lead her into the forest, as Morgan had assumed they had? And if so, was she any safer right now than she had been then? The thought chilled Morgan to the bone, and she decided to go and check on her mother, just in case.

KatrinaHer mother (this is Morgan's POV now) lay peacefully on her bed, no differently from the way she had done every other day of her life. Morgan watched her thoughtfully for a while, and then turned to leave. As she did, however, her mother stirred and softly called her name.

“Morgan …”

Morgan crept back towards her.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Morgan, it’s the middle of the night.”

“I know, Mother.”

“So why are ye here?”

“I …” Morgan thought quickly. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“And what might that be?” Katrina sat up and peered at her daughter through the darkness.

“It’s just …” Morgan thought again. “Where did you go when you went searching for me?”

In the gloom Morgan could see a little frown appear on her mother’s face.

“Where was I … where was I …”

Morgan waited patiently.

“I don’t really know what happened, truth be told,” said Katrina eventually. “One moment I was walkin’ down the path, looking for you, and the next …”

“What happened next, Mother?” Prompted Morgan gently.

“Well, I dunno, do I?” Katrina suddenly sounded irritable. “But I do know that one moment I was in one place, and the next I was somewhere completely different.”

“Where was the other place, Mother?”

“The woods. I found myself in the woods. There was an awful windstorm, an’ I found myself in the middle of the forest. An’ I saw …”

“What did you see?” whispered Morgan. It was all making sense.

“I saw smoke,” answered Katrina. “Smoke all around, and nothin’ else. An’ then there was this awful sound …” she shuddered. “It was so deep, and so low, and so angry. It throbbed, if ye know what I mean. An’ it grew louder, an’ louder … even when I covered my ears it was ‘orrible. But it did seem to blow away the smoke, and it stopped the windstorm. An’ then everythin’ was quiet, an’ I could see agin.”

“But … was there anything else, before the sound?”

“I told ye, didn’ I?”

“Yes, but … could there possibly have been any … any lights?”

“Good Heavens, child, why would there be any lights? There was just smoke, as I told ye.”

“Oh.”

“So then, I found my tracks – which was odd, might I add, as I’d just appeared, as I thought, plus the windstorm should’ve blown ‘em away – and I followed ‘em. An’ they led me ta you. You was just lying there, all alone an’ out cold, at the foot of your beloved tree. I thought you was dead, as I say. It’s a bloody miracle in itself that you wasn’t injured. You should count yourself lucky.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“But it don’t mean ta say you’re gettin’ away with it just yet.”

“No, Mother.”

“Alright, then. Off ya go.” Katrina lay back down and watched her daughter tiptoe out of her room. Another POV switch. Indication? Then she closed her eyes and thought of their conversation.

It was very odd, now she came to think about it. She tried to remember straying off the path and into the forest, but any
memory of anything like that had gone beyond recall. Very odd … Katrina suddenly felt very tired. She had just begun to drift off when her eyes flew open and her heartbeat intensified a thousand-fold. She heard it. The humming. It was so soft, so melodious. She felt her mind drift into oblivion as the sound numbed her senses. They were calling … the voices were calling … she heard what they said as clearly as if they had been speaking in words …

Follow the candles.

She screwed up her eyes, waiting for the wolves to attack, for the trees to close in on her, for the wraiths to envelop her.

she jerked violently at every snap of a twig, every rustle of the branches surrounding her.

Elnari felt it in the air; she sensed it in her mind. It weighted down her heart like lead and she feared to look up lest she be struck dead by terror.

Something was moving. Fast.

Through Elnari’s mind raced a myriad of fevered thoughts.

Although she never looked up, her mind formed horrific scenes of what might be happening.

She was certain that she was going to die, or be driven mad by the nameless fear that threatened to engulf her entire being …

The pale glow that had shone dimly through the clouds was gone without a trace.

This was real, paralyzing terror

Afterwards she could not have said how long she lay there on her bed of rotten leaves, sobbing and gasping, her heart rent with fear.

It’s the “Afterwards” there that’s drawing my concern. Is there an afterwards? Does she survive this? The “Afterwards” makes me think she does. And if she does… do you want the reader to know that there’s an afterwards? Because if you don’t, then it obviously needs to skedaddle. (A note of advocacy for it: if the reader’s unsure of whether she lives or dies, that’s impetus to read onward!)

Okay, and one final one:

Elnari could not have described it if she had wanted to.

It was for these reasons, coupled with her silence, that when the strangers passed by underneath her – not on the road but in the bush – they neither saw her nor perceived that she was there.

Morgan was hauled up in front of him, in a similar manner to a shield

The impression was enhanced by the rather large wooden ladle she held in her hand.

Morgan was shepherded towards the wooden bench

The man, who was Morgan’s father, swung her onto his shoulders.

She came eventually to the junction. This was where the country road joined up with the more well-trodden road that led to Charicadd Square, and the town that shared its name. It was there that John went to sell his wares. He was a carpenter and created the most beautiful figures out of wood. The trouble was, there was hardly anybody wealthy or sympathetic enough to by them. When somebody did, the money was enough to last about two weeks before the family relapsed into their previous state of poverty.