Darkhenge

D. DUIR: OAK

There seems to be a series of fortresses, each deeper in the wood. He calls this the second caer. Glass Castle.

It’s brighter than the last. In fact the walls are nothing but a greenish shimmer so I can see that the slopes that were grassy yesterday are already thick with saplings.

Last night (though it’s always night) he went up on the roof and stood looking east for a long time.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, coming behind.

He rarely answers my questions, but he did this time. “A hole is opening in the world. Birds and bats are leaking out. Power is leaking out.”

“When are you going to let me go?” I demanded.

His eyes were puzzled through a new, oak-leaf mask.

“Go where?” he said.