Chapter One - Henry

She rested heavily upon her knotted wooden staff.  Henry.  She named everything.  Subconsiously, the names just popped into her head of their own accord and she never questioned them.  This particular staff, she remembered vividly, was acquired at some cost several years ago. 

On her way into town one day in late autumn, she noticed an odd branch growing high on the trunk of a great oak tree.  The leaves, having abandoned their posts on the branches some weeks before, left this particular branch looking quite out of place.  It had grown at an odd angle, not straight outward and not slightly upward as most branches are wont to do, but almost parallel with the main trunk of the tree, and straight downward.  Quite odd, indeed.  Almost like an arm with a knobby shoulder connecting it eerily to the body of the old oak, without a matching one on the other side.  It was about the size of an arm too, or at least the arm of a small giant.  She knew almost immediately that she was meant to retrieve that branch, and quickly set about to do just that. 

She spared no thought to whose tree it was, or just what a person would think of seeing her tuck-up her skirts and navigate the sturdy branches like a young lad.  She rarely spared thoughts for such things.  Instead, she drew the blade she always kept in her bag, placed it gingerly between her teeth, careful not to touch it with lip or tongue, and started up the tree.  It took her at least a quarter of an hour to reach the branch and get into a steady enough position to begin its removal. 

She had managed a good few minutes of persistent gouging around the wooden shoulder, when the sound finally reached her.  She noticed the far-off shouts, getting louder by the second, but they were still too far away to be understood.  Glancing in the direction of the noise, she noticed the barrel of a man approaching at a surprising speed from the stone cottage perched neatly atop the nearest hillock. 

"Get... out... of my... tree!"  By the time he reached the base of the tree, he had worked up a good sweat and was quite out of breath.  She paused her gouging momentarily to peer down at the red-faced man on the ground below her feet.

"Oh, hello good sir," She greeted the man most cordially.  She was a lady after all, or so her mother had always insisted.  "Is there something I can help you with?"  She then went back to work removing the odd limb.

The man stared up at her, completely bewildered and not just a little insensed.  His fleshy mouth opened and closed silently several times in utter indignation.  Finally, he recovered his voice, "What do you mean, 'can you help me?' You're in MY tree!  Now, stop whatever it is you're doing this instant!"

"Begging your pardon, good sir, but I'm almost through here."  And indeed she only had an inch or so to carve through before the branch would be free.  She continued her work leisurely, as the man continued to bellow unheeded demands for her to cease her efforts. 

Sap oozed slowly down the trunk in front of her, and coated her blade entirely by the time she finally loosed the branch from the tree.  Wiping the sap on her skirts, she placed the blade between her teeth once more, dropped the newly freed limb to the ground by her bag and started back down to the earth. 

Once she reached the ground she turned to retrieve her prize, only to find it missing, along with her belongings.  Glancing toward the stone cottage on the hill, she just caught a glimpse of the man ducking inside with her bag in tow.  After righting her skirts, she purposefully made her way toward the stone ediface.

She didn't bother to knock.  Instead she pushed the solid wooden door inward and walked in as though she had done so every day of her life.  The man was startled to see her in the doorway.  He stood up quickly from his task of stashing her leather bag in the trunk by his bed, guilt and outrage battling for dominance of his face.

"Good sir, you were so kind to bring my things inside for safe-keeping."

"Safe-keeping?  Are you mad?  I've confescated your 'things' in payment for damaging my tree!"

"I did no such thing.  That tree is perfectly fine.  One small branch gone is hardly going to weaken a hundred year old tree." 

The branch in question was lying on the table in the center of the room.  The recently severed shoulder lazily dripped a bead or two of sap onto the worn planks of the table.  She picked it up and examined it thoroughly.  It was as tall as she, with smooth brown bark, not the bark of an oak tree at all.  It was three inches in diameter at the shoulder and it tapered into a point where a single dried leaf clung stubbornly.  Henry.  He would do just fine.

"That's my branch!  Put it down and leave my house at once."  The man was still standing by the trunk, eyeing her warily as she inspected the tree branch.

"You really are a silly man.  Your branch indeed.  And I suppose next you'll tell me that the very ground we stand upon is yours as well." 

He opened his mouth to confirm just that, but she held up her hand to stave off the senseless drivel about to pour forth.  "No, don't bother trying to convince me such a thing could be.  'Tis a waste of time.  Now if you are going to be stubborn, I will honorably allow you to keep my things in exchange for this branch you seem to think you own.  I bid you good day, sir."

She turned on her heel and left the cottage.  She headed home then, having no coins left to take to the market in town this day.  The loss didn't seem so great though, Henry would make a fine staff.  And after all, what was a "Old Crone" without a knotted staff to lean on?