Some say dragons live in them there woods. Some say they come out at night while we’re a-slumbering and swoop and glide when we don’t see.
Twas a few years ago it happened. Ole’ Albert was the woodkeeper as was his Pa before him and his Pa too. He lodged in the crooked stone cottage at the wood’s edge. He tended the trees, befriended the wildlife and cared for the creatures of the undergrowth.
One night, late one night, he was awoken by the smell of smoke. He heard crackling. He flung back the night blind and stared from the window at a wall of flame. He rushed outside and tugged the rope on the firebell.
Folk from across the village hurried to the scene clutching buckets and hoses. By daybreak, the inferno was tamed and much of the woodland saved. Some said they heard a distant rumble of laughter, dragon laughter. Some claimed the beasts had breathed their fiery breath upon the trees to remind folk the woodland was theirs.
Sometimes the trees sway on the stillest of days. Tis them dragons flapping their wings some say. The dragons that still live in them there woods.
Word count 197
I also partook last time the photo prompt appeared. My story is right here – I am Ready
Thanks to Susan Spaulding for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction and to A Mixed Bag for the photo.