The boy hugged his legs and wiggled his frozen toes desperately, trying to push some sort of warmth back into them through sheer strength of will. So far it hadn’t worked.

The sky was dark, not just because the sun had been down for hours, but because the moon was smothered by thick layers of broiling cloud. Dark and oppressive, they were barely visible through the lashing sheets of rain that constantly hammered into the boy, wetting his ragged clothes in seconds. Droplets trickled down his cold, tight skin like searching snakes, crawling over him, groping blindly for a place where he was weak to bite him with their freezing fangs. And weak he was, for he had been pulling himself through this lonely torment for hours.

His eyes squinted against the moisture gathering again in his lashes, his legs were aching and sore and he was tired, oh so tired! Dragging his bare foot out of yet another sucking pit of mud, he stumbled on through the darkness, seeing barely a few metres ahead, blindly searching for shelter of some form.

It was only a short moment before the endless plains of dark mud that pulled greedily at his feet, revealed a meagre shelter. A tree, withered but tall, and proud to stand so high against such fierce elements. Its trunk was barely visible from where the boy stood, but it had leaves and branches that had knitted themselves into a great canopy that sheltered the ground below it.

Too exhausted to feel more than a passing sense of hope, he struggled through the last few steps, made all the more wearying by the knowledge that they kept him from shelter for longer every time he had to make one. But he managed it, somehow, and shivering violently from the numbing chill, he collapsed under its protecting wings.

Using the last of his energy, he grabbed his toes with his hands and dragged himself into a wretched ball of soaking rags on the damp, yet blissfully hard ground. For a while he dreamt, strange shapes moved around him like curious phantoms. Some were kindly and thoughtful, and they moved their insubstantial hands through his soft brown hair, marveling at this small warmth which had crept into their empty realm.

The dream world was bright, full of subtle blue and white glows and soft swirling mists that curled in and out of existence. All around him was emptiness, almost like the mud flats he had been battling through, only full of harmony and peace, feelings that the boy could feel radiating from every one of these odd phantoms that were now growing bolder and showing themselves to him. With misty tendrils they explored his face; gazing deep into his sad brown eyes. They looked into his dark, brown eyes; eyes full of a sadness that was banished through their company. Sighing with pity, they warmed his toes, blue with cold, and surrounded him with heat to dry his rags.

Then one by one they stretched their pale, insubstantial faces into wistful smiles and retreated into the darkness as a great roar called out from afar. It was a voice full of the same loneliness and sorrow that the boy felt at seeing his new companions leave. It wailed on and on, a mournful cry of pitiful anguish that tore the boy’s heart from his chest, still beating, and twisted it painfully.

It was only when the ragged scream grew so loud it became painful that the boy understood; the voice belonged to a demon. One full of suffering, so twisted by its hatred of those who had hope that it could only cast the love of others aside in spite, never keep love for itself. The child gasped and began to feel his body in the dream world respond, he crawled backwards, his hands finding purchase on the smooth, marble-hard floor that extended into the endless horizon.

He pushed on, but the voice was getting closer, and he saw through the mists, now full of dark shades of red and black that tainted the once soothing fog, a shape that he knew in his heart of hearts was pure malice. He opened his mouth and screamed back with all his might. A heavily clawed hand pushed through the swirls of shadow, covered in streaks of graying mould and enveloped in a sagging skin like the rags the boy wore. It dwarfed him in size. The boy knew, as he saw this tip of a dreadful iceberg, that the kindly spirits had been pushed away by this monster, so jealous of his happiness that it had crawled through the lands of stinging hope to break him and drag him away.

Then he awoke, his heart hammering against his ribs. His first thought was to flee from the beast, but he soon saw the careful embrace of his protecting tree, covering him with its enfolding branches like a stalwart sentinel. He sighed and uncurled himself, feeling immensely afraid and lonely, but somehow safe, despite what dangers the night held for him.

In the darkness he could see little, only the furthest branches of the tree were visible; the rest of the night was impenetrable and still full of unforgiving rain. But there was no mist or smog that might harbour demons, only a thick blanket of oppressive darkness. A droplet fell from above, spiraling slowly down towards him, and it hit him, bursting into a miniature fountain. The water was warm against his cheek, despite the cold air around him. The boy pushed his tongue carefully through his lips and tasted it; his mouth was touched with the familiar flavour of salty tears. Up above him, the tree was crying, and the boy cried too. Tears welled up in his eyes and trickled down his face into the corners of his mouth, small streams, like the hidden snakes in the rain.

The boy shuddered with a sob of despair. How could he ever leave this place where he was safe? Surely day could never find him like this, alone and hiding. How could anyone find so small and helpless a child as he? He looked up imploringly, beseeching whoever might be aware of him to come and warm his cold, cold body.

A shape appeared in the night, far away from the branches of the tree. It was odd that he could see it, reflected the child, since he could see nothing else beyond the furthest branches. Yet it came closer, and it was a kindly presence that made him feel as if a flame had been lit in his frozen body and thawed the ice there.

The form became a man, and the man walked into the relative shelter of the

tree’s branches. He was old, without a doubt, and covered in deep wrinkles and crevasses that against all reason went vertically as well as horizontally, criss-crossing on his bald, wrinkled scalp. His skin was a rich dark brown in the half light that had revealed him, and in his veined weathered hand, he clutched a gnarled branch. The top of it was worn smooth by his hand, and it was quite obviously well used, but it had stood the test of time and wear, and stood proudly as a result. From a groove near the top hung a few strings dotted with coloured beads and dangling feathers of various soft colours, pale blues and beiges.

The man smiled broadly at the sight of the huddled, shivering boy and he held his hand out in greeting, but the boy shrank back, afraid of this stranger who was so unsurprised to see him. Kneeling down, the man spoke in a soft rich voice, a voice full of knowledge, which hid a soul that had seen the world and known it fully.

“It is rare for this tree to accept travelers.” He murmured to the boy “You look cold and lost. Very wet too!” he chuckled lightly, and from the depths of the skins he wore over his chest, he drew a bundle of blankets that were miraculously dry. He moved closer to the boy and carefully put the blanket over him. The change was immediate, as the heat that had been seeping out of him into the night was held against him. Smiling shyly, the boy suddenly found the strength to sit up and shake the water out of his hair, pushing it out of his eyes with a shaking hand, which he immediately drew back into the heat of the covering.

“I suppose you must be hungry” the old man stated rather than asked, standing up and drawing a thick pad of bread studded with dry nuts and seeds from the recesses of his cloak. “Here, eat it. It will fill you and… perhaps banish a little more of the cold that is this darkness.” He nodded sagely, his smile somehow amused. The boy took the bread gratefully and bit into it cautiously. His eyes widened, it was the best thing he had ever tasted, musty and filling, it brought to his mind images of autumn and crunching leaves underfoot. Its scent told a story full of warm days of summer and swirling dust around men who had laboured in the, now unfamiliar, sun. He opened his eyes after swallowing the first bite and grinned happily at the old fellow.

“So.” Spoke the man “What brings you here to this cold place?” he sat down and drew his cloak around his whole body, small rivulets of rainwater passing over his bald skull through the network of wrinkles. The boy stared at him for a moment, blinking sleepily and hugging his knees.

“I see.” smiled the man knowingly. “Then perhaps we should try and find your home as soon as we can, no? I’m sure your family are afraid for you to be out so late in the night.” He stood up, his bones emitting an alarming creak as he moved them.

“Come now. I’m sure the journey will be easier with a friend to help you through those small hardships.” He said and with that, he scooped the boy into his arms and began to stride over the wet earth out into the pouring rain. As he left the shelter of the tree, he plucked a bead from his staff and knelt to down, pressing it into the earth until it was hidden from sight.

“So that another tree may grow for ones such as yourself.” He explained mysteriously. Then he began his long strides again. What little vision the boy had of his surroundings blurred with the speed of their journey, and his eyelids grew heavy. He slipped himself deeper into the crook of the old person’s wiry arm and closed them contentedly.

In his dreams time passed slowly, as it had before. The phantoms returned, singing joyously and glowing blue and pale yellow and they circled him in an ever tightening ring. A cry came through the air again, but they ignored it, and knitted their forms together, their faces growing closer and closer until they were only one entity, one shield that wrapped itself over the boy like a blanket. His body warmed, and two great wings spread out over his head with feathers green and brown, shaped like leaves, shimmering and glowing, each one a bird in free flight. Behind him, he felt the body of an angel, a giant guardian, protecting him from harm.

The wings encircled him completely, and he could no longer see beyond them. But he felt safe and happy, and gradually, the wailing demon crawled away, its hands clattering audibly on the marble-hard surface as it fought to retreat from this overwhelming unity that presented itself.

The boy awoke, and the rain was still beating down through the dark sky. The man smiled down at him.

“Yes. It is a lonely life at times, but I manage to get by you know. They keep me company in my dreams, the spirits, holding me tight and close and warm, and I never need to fear the loneliness if I can hold them close. Although…” he paused for a moment “…they are perhaps not the same as a real friend.” He smiled sadly, then shrugged and carried on walking.

The boy, sensing his discomfort, looked out over the folds of the blanket and saw a dim light glimmering through the darkness. Surrounded by mud, there stood an island of warmth, full of happiness. Home! The man lengthened his already lengthly stride and in moments they stood before the windows of a small wooden house. Inside a small fire burnt and voices murmured happily and contentedly, the boy’s eyes widened in amazement. The man set him on the floor reluctantly and he took a hesitant step forward.

Then he took another, ignoring the cold mud beneath his feet; then another, ignoring the lashing rain above him, coming closer still to the sturdy door. Blinking, he turned his head to look for the man who had helped him. Far away, he could see a shape moving through the darkness, its cloak flapping in the breeze like the wings of an angel, feathers twitching and jumping on strings around its gnarled staff. Through the darkness, a single tear fell from it, and it glimmered in the light of the fire.

The boy looked at the door, then back at the man, then he smiled and opened his hand to reveal a pale blue feather. He knelt on the doorstep and left it, a sign that he was alive, then he turned after the old man, safe and warm in his blanket, knowing that an angel watched them both.