The Whispers of the Ancient Willow
Once upon a time, in the heart of a serene village named Fairholm, a monumental ancient willow tree, known as Arwel, stood by the cobblestone path that led towards the picturesque flower-laden meadows. Word around the village was that Arwel had always been there, its roots delving deep into the earth, caressing the heart of the world, intertwining with the ages that passed like sand through fingers.
Each day as dawn broke, the villagers would pass by the willow, their eyes admiring the tree that seemed emblematic of time itself. They would often whisper wishes to Arwel, believing the age-old tales that it was a beacon of luck. By nightfall, Arwel's branches would sway gently in the wind, carrying a mysterious, etheral hum, akin to nature's clandestine lullaby, serenading the village into tranquility.
As the cycle of the village revolved around the great Arwel, a little girl named Isolde, daughter of the village blacksmith, created a unique bond with it. Isolde, with her untamed fiery curls and sparkling sapphire eyes, found solace under the lush green leaves of the willow. Often, she was seen huddled against its base, her tiny lips whispering secrets into the bark, her laughter echoing around the very essence of Arwel.
One day, as the little girl huddled against Arwel, she heard a frail voice from deep within the tree. The voice, as if on a sigh of wind, promised Isolde that it held the powers to grant her one wish. Astonished but fearless, Isolde whispered her most profound wish into Arwel; a wish not for material treasure but the well-being of her ailing father, who had been bedridden for months.
The following day, a miracle happened. Isolde's father woke up, his strength restored, and his spirits high. The hum of the village buzzed with amazement and joy. From thereon, the denizens of Fairholm knew that the tales they shared about Arwel weren't mere superstitions; they bore an uncanny reality that tied them to its existence. The villagers lived in harmony, respecting and guarding the ancient willow as their benefactor.
Decades passed, yet time seemed to have forgotten about Arwel. Isolde, now a beautiful young woman, made it her mission to preserve Arwel, sharing the tale of the wish-granting willow with passing generations. The legend of the willow grew, deep and wide, much like Arwel itself.
However, one fateful night, a devastating storm arrived, unbeknownst to the villagers. The turbulent winds and pounding rain thrashed relentlessly against Fairholm, leaving a trail of wreckage behind. During the storm's ruthless onslaught, Isolde, her heart heavy with foreboding, braved the tempest to shield Arwel.
As morning came and storm subsided, the villagers found Isolde hard-pressed against Arwel, her body cold and lifeless, mirroring the tree's fate. While death usually marks an end, it symbolised a beginning for Arwel and Isolde. Even in death, the unyielding silent serenade from the willow continued, now accompanied by the echoes of her laughter.
The villagers mourned yet celebrated their spirits, in honour of the sacrifices made. The hum of the village carried the resonating love for Arwel and Isolde, their memories blest in the whispers of the ancient willow.
To this day, travellers passing by Fairholm are guided by the sombre
willow standing guard over the cobblestone path leading to flower-laden meadows. On still nights, one can hear a harmonious hum, an intertwining melody of a willow's lullaby and a girl's joyous laughter.