The world was aching; she could feel it whenever she laid her hands upon the dark soil. On her own, she didn't stand a chance to stem the tide of destruction washing over her homeland, but she would try. She had no option, for she would surely die with the last tree, the last flower to bloom.
So she planted new forests where fortresses stood proud, sowed flowers on battlefields. She guided animals to make new homes in lush forests, and even supported people looking to escape the civilized world.
And if you, weary traveler, would like to do the same, look for the witch with the leaf green eyes and hair of poison ivy. She will hear your call.
YOU ARE READING
Tiny Stories Part 2
Short StoryMy second collection of microfiction, sometimes dealing with the mundane, but mostly dealing with the magical. Unlike the first collection, the stories in this one are based on inktober prompts.
