I don't own any recognisable characters from the story. Morgan Price is my own invention, but she is so deeply entwined into the story that I can't claim her either. I'm sorry its such a short chapter. I'll do better, I promise.
Morgan Price woke up in the forest, confused, bewildered, and in a lot of pain. She slowly got to her feet, winced as her joints cracked sullenly, and looked around. She was deep in the Western Woods. She did not know how she had arrived here, and, what was more, why, but, after checking the position of the sun, set off for home. Pulling leaves out of her hair and brushing them off her dress, she did not notice the darkly dressed man who peered out of the trees at her. His blue eyes glinted in the green-filtered sunlight as he watched her beat her way through all the lowhanging branches. The man smiled thinly at the woman's retreating back. She looked so familiar, but he could not place her face to a name. Why had she come stumbling through the underbrush last night, rousing the small creatures who, curled up in their snug little dens, must have huddled together in fear when she came trampling, screaming someone's name-'Klaus! Klaus, where are you?'-before finally tripping over a fallen tree and falling unconscious, her prone body spread out on a blanket of years-old leaves. She was rather pretty, the man thought, at least when she shut up. Her calls had roused him, as they had roused every other creature in fen and wood in five mile's radius; the man, first angered, then baffled, then intriguied, had stalked her through the woods last night. As he pondered on who her Klaus was, he made his way-silently, at least-back to the gnarled little tree he was always drawn to. The damn thing was old, looked like it had been struck by lightning, and shaped like a howling, accursed spirit bursting from the depths of hell, arms reaching up, trying to grab the clouds upon which heaven's golden paradise was, and pull itself up from the tortures and grinning demons, into the cool embraces of the angels, the calm smiles of the blessed and the pure. It looked the way the man felt. He longed to leave this plane of existence; who he was, he had no idea, but that he was not like the men who lived in the village, that he knew all too well. He would even take hell, if it meant he could leave. But he did not know how, and it haunted him. He had been brought back by a woman who looked like a proud angel, but who he quickly learned was a spiteful, haughty witch. She had held his head, and ordered him to kill, kill on the most absurd charges, charges she made up. But he had no choice but to answer; her cold soul-magic kept him bound to her, and to this horrible place. Then a man, a man from the city, had come, and he had given him back his head and broken the spell over him. But still, he was bound. By what? He had reached the tree, the one that reached and waved and stared despairingly at the sky. The roots opened, and the man stepped inside his small, earthen home.
If you want more, mi hermanos, mi hermanas, review. ^^ I will write more if you spend just a few minutes of your time. Writing is SOOOO difficult, after all.