Wilberforce continues (rough)

A rallying wind blew the long grass of the meadow into life. Dr. Wilberforce felt the chill through his long, charismatic coat as he strode towards the forest. The rustling trees beckoned him onwards whilst the glinting houses further down the hill served only to remind him of how he had become estranged.

Twilight had set in as Wilberforce reached the forest and, he concluded, it would be many a twilight until he left. The cottagers in the valley glanced at him disinterestedly and those who had finished cottaging and returned to their cottages gazed for a mere second longer.

The forest, meanwhile, opened its branches for its newly recruited hermit. As he walked deeper into the wood, the brambles and the trees gently enfolded him and his tattered backpack like a mother cradling a young child. Being the victim of cruel circumstance, Wilberforce certainly enjoyed the same level of innocence as the cradled child.

Soon the soft, loving coo of the owls began to caress Wilberforce’s ears. His feather’s bristled with anticipation. Instinctively he clambered up an oak. His blood coursing with adrenaline he scaled ever higher until he fell foul of a rotten branch and fell to the floor. The floor caught him with a net of discarded tree parts seemingly placed so ease him back to the floor. It was to be a steep learning curve, but one Wilberforce considered himself ready to embrace. He loved the forest and the forest loved him back.