Oldfield Birch

It is said there is an old field, where heavy mist shrouds everything in a thick, hazy gloom. Except, of course, for the birch.

The birch is old and, they say, the birch is mean.

Its wiry branches will whip in the wind and, if you get too close, will give you a good thrashing harsh enough to draw blood.

It is said that blood had long ago awakened the tree and that, having gotten a taste of it, the tree now hungers for more. They say the birch learned to call the wind, using it to whip its bra...