You’ve walked all day in search of a myth whispered into your ear by a dying grandmother. “Find the stone circle and bring back the light,” mumbled the woman.
“I don’t understand the meaning of her words,” you tell your mother.
With a stern look, she tells you, “Leave well enough alone, we’ve dead to bury.”
Next morning, you wake at sunrise and follow a path you were warned against treading since you were a child.
“It must be down here for I have walked all the others and not seen such a place,” you mutter, stepping into the wood.
Dusk approaches, and still you wander the tracks and trails long overgrown with ivy. “I need to turn back”, but something pulls you forward.
Ahead, you make out a large vertical stone. “I’ve found it,” you cry and rush ahead.
The stones of the circle stand covered in vines. At its center lies an enormous stone altar surrounded by flowers and shrubs.
“Bring back the light, what did you mean, Nana?” you whisper as you place your hand on the altar’s surface.
“Who disturbs my slumber?” came an earthy voice from under the stone.
“Hello, I came here to bring back the light,” you say, trying to be brave.
“The witch has sent you. So be it. The others won’t be happy,” the voice rumbled.
From the stone’s center, a sphere of white light pulses. “What do I do?” you ask.
“Reach out and take it in your hands,” the voice said.
“It feels warm and soft like a kitten,” you remark.
“It is the light of hope. Now be off before the others sense you,” cautioned the voice.
Making your way through the woods by the orb’s light, you find yourself standing at the village’s edge.
Then, without warning, the sphere lifts from your hand and floats high above the village. “What is happening?” questions a villager.
“I retrieve the light of hope,” you answer.
Before anyone could speak, the orb exploded. Millions of glowing sparks settled on the homes and people.
As a spark touches you, you hear Nana’s voice, “I have returned what should never have been lost. Go, child, and be blessed.”
In the days that followed, the villagers’ spirits brightened. Instead of glum faces, the people wore smiles.
At Nana’s grave, you place a single lily upon the soil, then lean down and whisper, “Thank you for your trust in me. Sleep well and know you will always be loved.”
Standing you head home with the hope of better things to come.
Folksburywoods 
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