Whispering Woods
View DetailsThe Winners!
Guardian of the Gate. First Place in Whispering Woods Challenge.
Dappled light danced over the soft forest floor as beams of sun played with the leaves of the trees high above. Beech, oak, and yew stood tall and proud, sentinels of this ancient land. Colours of autumn were in abundance, the forest a tapestry of deep hues. Golds, and browns, and reds, interspersed with the ever present green. Occasional bursts of bright summer colours caught the eye. Purples, pinks, blues, yellows and more. Flora, stubborn of the changing seasons along with pixies, sprites, and a plethora of other low fae flying about. Warmer days would be rare until spring came a-calling once more.
By Morgan Christy Rickards3 years ago in Fiction
Heart and Bone. Second Place in Whispering Woods Challenge.
Worst. Birthday. Ever. Thirteen was supposed to be exciting. A time of beginnings, endings. A rite of passage, a door to individuality and maturity. She was supposed to be surrounded by friends and family, not alone in the mud on the forest floor. Well, she was not entirely alone; there was the voice. That almost made it worse.
By Scott C Lillard3 years ago in Fiction
Mother of The Woods. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge.
When Lilia listened to the woods, truly listened, the woods spoke back. It communicated, of course, not through mere words as humans did, but through ways of a more natural sort, a godlike sort, whispering sweet nothings to her through wisps of wind licking between her fingers. Its curling, giggling, lilting breeze tickled the hairs on her neck, making them stand at attention like a pack of hungry, primal beasts. The woods never pushed or pulled her this way or that; rather, the woods probed at her playfully, lovingly, as she walked past the beauty of it, immersing herself body and soul into its depths, letting the shrubs and ferns speak to her through those long, scratching traces they left along her exposed arms and legs, letting them tell her their meaning, their history. She closed her eyes and listened to them speak.
By angela hepworth3 years ago in Fiction
We Remember. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge.
She is uneasy. I can smell it. The grey one is talking to her softly in the shrinking light. We will move soon, not away from the strange trees, but into them. This seems bad to me. They are older than the other trees and smell angry and strong. There is ample food, clean and rapid water, and there is a friendly bitch in a hut close to the ravine I would like to get to know. We do not need to go in order to live.
By D. J. Reddall3 years ago in Fiction
Good Memories. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge.
Every morning for the past six years Henry has walked through the Havenwood forest alone. He wore a loose-fitting button up shirt tucked into slacks, and in his hand a picture of his late wife, Lora, smiling with a glow warmer than the Sun. She was out here somewhere in the woods; he was sure of it. People just don’t disappear into thin air, and the cancer in her pancreas wouldn’t have allowed her to travel far, but she vanished this exact day six years before. No trace, no footprints, nothing. Just gone.
By Keb Rogers3 years ago in Fiction
A Fanny Full of Wasps. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge.
I never thought my sister would die. Oh, I know her death was natural, expected. She, of all people, had been firmly rooted in such things, in the give and take of nature. Tender protection of it, and respect for its savage edge. If I'd thought of her end at all, it was the back of her, dwindling from view and swallowed by summer trees. Her stumping off to the woods in her big boots and enormous overcoat with that ancient loyal mutt at her side... and simply never coming back.
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
Becoming I. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge.
As dawn breaks night's terror with a sure and steady hand, the harbinger's scream has faded to an echo of memory. In its wake, nothing but a buzzy chirp and coo of conversation scores the canopy of my trees. The day rolling in is gentle, the air calm and cooling, with skies a soothing powdered blue. Dew glistens in dapples along my mossy pathways, coaxing the rising sun's warmth into the last of night's shadows where blood, splashed from kills onto the loin of my trees, remains wet.
By Caroline Jane3 years ago in Fiction
The Legend of Ardanor. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge.
The trees are talking. At least that's what it sounded like to Rin, he could hear the birds tweeting, and the rustling of leaves replying. He imagined deep and long conversations happening between all the creatures of the forest and the trees of old.
By Liam Storm3 years ago in Fiction
