Summer 1835 – Whispers from the Stone

Tree Cutter made a sign and turn away from the hollow. “It’s that way. Past the dead trees and the black brambles,” he said. “I’ll wait two days for you here, if you want.”

“We had not planned to be that long,” I said. 

“People have a way of getting lost in there.” He pulled the bundle of rope from his pack. He tied one end to my right wrist and the other end to a young oak. He said, “Sometimes that will help.”