The sky was black. Thunder roared above my head. The rain splashed and whipped against me, cutting my pale skin. The wild countryside was desolate and grey, an untamed beast wailing with the sky. Running, I hurteld down the hill, fighting the battling wind. Lightning flashed above me, stabbing the ground below. In the distance the old oak stood, the only colour that shone from this dark landscape. Without a thought I raced toward it. The Oak at least would provide safety from the enraged sky. At last I reached its warm bark. sliding against it so my scarred knees were tucked close to my stomach. I rapped my sodden arms around it, trying to gather warmth from my own body. It was only then I realised another hunched and hooded figure sat beneath the dark green canopy. He wore a muddied and torn cloak that stretched down to his ankles. His skin was nearly as pale as his silver hair that stuck out from under his hood in a touseld mess. I could not see his face. it was buried in his thin chalky hands. Clearly through the skin you could see bright blue veins that ran like rivers around the bone. He shifted slightly and noticing me sat up. He looked at me strangely, as if I were some interesting specimen. Ever so slightly I moved away. His gaze unnerved me. The piercing blue eyes seemed to see straight through. I shivered. We are taught to fear strangers. Then he looked away, as if sensing my discomfort
"You know child it is not safe to rest here" He said staring out at the bleak fields "To linger in such a storm is unwise," He looked back at me then, obviously expecting some retort
"Indeed" I stated as if on cue "But why then do you?" The old man smiled and laughed to himself. Suddenly his face became serious and he moved to stare me in the face.
"You do not know the bones child, but soon, yes soon you will," I started to stand, the old man was scaring me now. I began to shake.
"Yes very soon I think," He repeated still staring at me with those stormy unblinking eyes. Then I ran, but as I passed, my hem got caught on a gnarled snag. Violently I pulled at it, ripping the fragile material. Finally the tree let go and I darted out into the storm, leaving the ripped silk hanging from the broken branch.