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Quote by J.R. Potts

“The thick canopy of winding white oak branches intertwined overhead to belie the light of the waning gibbous moon. The further they traveled from the tree line the more the darkness flourished but small slivers of light still radiated through holes in the forest ceiling. Filling the old grove with sporadic white beams as far as the eye could see. They navigated the tangled webs of roots swelling out from the immense trunks of trees. The wood seams sewing the soil as though they stitched together the brush carpet beneath their feet. The longer they trekked in the timber maze the closer the trees careened and crossed”

Quote by J.R. Potts

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Gathering of the Crimson Cloaks

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J.R. Potts

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“The glare of the green landscape and the air, the air that was everywhere, in us and making way for us, and we rode and were aware only of each other and ourselves for those couple of miles, and for those couple of miles I was myself, back in the neighborhood of Chacarita, where I moved with my mom after we realized my dad was never going to move out first, that we would have to leave him, and I saw on either side of me the big ugly high-rises and squat goldenrod houses and fuchsia and blue and inscrutable notes scrawled on the walls, graffiti intermingling with the shimmering, shadowing little leaves of the tipas, and as I rode I slowed at the oleander at Facultad de Medicina, those delicate pink flowers that rose over the fence in utter opulence and the lush stiff leaves that reached out through the bars that were freshly painted bright green. Then there it was: the Great Mamamushi. I slowed, and Freddie slowed. We parked our bikes. I was out of breath and all the air on Earth was in my blood, and we kissed again, and I turned around, and he put his arms around my waist, and I leaned into him, and we beheld it: a tree that was almost too much to be true, that truly was incredible, with its trunk that was almost eight meters around, a staggering circumference, glittered over by dragonflies, heavy, petite, iridescent incarnations of Irena's genius, when suddenly a flock of impossible parrots exploded out of the alders, and we looked up to see them shattering the sky. "All the oaks on this trail have their own names," I explained to Freddie. "This one is my favorite. Can you believe it's still growing?" He put his face against mine. He didn't say anything. For a while we just stood like that, together, watching the Great Mamamushi grow.”

“The Birnam Oak by Stewart Stafford Medieval guardian, limpet oak, Reinforced branches, sunlit soak, Gnarled limbs in supplicant pose, A statuesque deity in thorny repose. Set up tent 'neath a canopy deep, Where my pilgrim forbears sleep, Midges swarming campfire's glow, And drowsy me, to slumber go. May roots prosper far from sight, Defying storm, flame, chainsaw's bite, Give verdant breath to creation's plan. Until Earth falls from human hand. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Fable Town's door is set in a sprawling live oak whose knobby trunk rivals the size of the largest mausoleum in our cemetery-- I suppose the door has to be this large to fit a dragon, after all-- with a canopy of serpentine branches that extended like the wizened, swollen-knuckled fingers of a witch. The knots are so smooth to the touch that I know this tree must be hundreds of years old. Thousands, even. Maybe even the first tree to ever exist in the Hinterlands. For what is older than fables themselves? a voice whispers in my mind. Distant tinkles of laughter like fairy bells rustle the shimmering leaves. Everything about this tree whispers of ancient storybooks and steaming spicy tea and castle halls filled with lute music. A picture of an open storybook is carved into the door, along with words so timeworn that I have to trace them with my finger to read them. "Once... upon... a... time..." I recite aloud in a voice as breathy as a spell.”

“Both the boys noticed that Mr. Smith was twisting a crested gold ring on his finger. "Looks like a school emblem," Frank thought, then suddenly realized what the man was telling him. "He's from SKOOL!" Joe got the message at the same time and threw a quick glance at his brother. Dell smiled. "I felt sure you would understand. It is safer if some things are not said aloud. Mr. Smith and I work together." So Dell was also a member of SKOOL, working under the guise of security officer for Great Circle Airways!”