The turning of the tide

The wind softly rustled the fallen leaves, just freed from the icy snows of winter. The trees creaked ominously in the hour before dawn and the few creatures that were still present in the grove, fled.
As the sun drew nearer its birthplace on the horizon, the seven oaks and four ash trees seemed to slowly lean towards the center of the glade, towards the resting place of the big slab of rock. The oaks were very old: they had seen their share of wildfires and had survived every single one. The ash trees had survived the many woodcutters throughout the centuries: after all, everyone knew that there was something odd about the grove.
It was the sort of “odd” that reminded you of whispered stories, told in front of a dying fire on a winter’s night. Of forgotten wells with unseen depths and sullen mountain vales, which nobody dared to cross alone.
The truth of the matter was, the grove had been there for thousands upon thousands of years. Before the first man climbed down from his tree, before civilization and the wheel, this grove had been born. Tended by the only great gardener, it had endured for millennia, untouched by human hands, least they should never find uses for them again.
Many legends where spun around the trees of the grove and their origin: some said they where kings of old, turned to trees by an irate enchantress, who had found them guilty of greed. Some said that the trees had been born from the drops of blood left by Arthur Pendragon, during his voyage on the bier that would take him to Avalon.
All the stories where obviously the product of fantasy, but this did not prevent the few travelers who walked through the grove to remain in reverent silence, slightly daunted by the feeling of ages.
However, the thing that commanded the most attention in the grove was the rock. It was laid out in the middle of the clearing, a big grey slab of granite, apparently unremarkable and yet sinister.
But that day, in the grey morning light it took on a new guise.
As the first ray of sunlight touched the rocky basin in the center of the slab, it pooled there and in a shower of sparks shot up into the sky, as if reflected from a spinning mirror.
The trees started slowly moving back in fourth as if rocked by the wind. But there wasn’t any, not a breath.
Then a strange noise started, a kind of keening, like a bagpipe intoning one long melancholy note.
And then she was there. Standing high on the rock, green cloak billowing in the now gale-like wind that seemed to be radiating from her form.
She gracefully stepped down from the rock, and where here feet touched the ground, the leaves took flight, and green grass grew.
She then looked up, into the sky, and parting here lips ever so slightly she emitted a high pitched whistle.
Out of the sky, plummeting to the ground with lightning speed came the Hawk. He had silver flecks in his midnight feathers and his eyes where of the brightest gold. He drew up sharp and perched himself on the Lady’s shoulder, his powerful talons barely grazing the skin.
“Another year is born, my friend”. The words reverberated though the clearing like the soft warm notes of a cello. The hawk whistled in answer.
“Yes, this one will be fantastic”. The hawk looked at her quizzically. He gazed deep into her meadow green eyes, witnessing the wonderful yet terrible power of their owner.
She smiled. “You know you don’t need to fear me, child. Even recent events cannot make me become consciously cruel.” Her eyes flashed with such intense anger that the irises tinged red. The hawk twitched nervously.
“Shhhhh. All is well. I’ll fix it, sooner or later…But for now, lets get this year started”.
She looked towards the ground and smiled. She kneeled and placed her lips on the bare earth.
Shockwaves reverberated in all directions bringing life and spring to all the corners of the globe.
Much later, she rose and called the hawk to her again.
“It has been too long that we have been banished from this place my friend. So this time, I charge you with more than just your usual message. You must tell our mutual friend that the tide is changing and I have added a wave to the storm. Randomness, once more. Tell him that.”
The hawk listened intently and then took off soaring off into the sky, towards the sky-court.
In the meanwhile, down on the ground, she climbed onto the rock and in a flash of water-blue, disappeared. However, her presence lingered for a while, and if you had been there, you would have heard the wind whisper these words “Let the world know”. And you would have then witnessed the truly remarkable. Lightning flashed down from the sky and struck the rock four times. As the smoke cleared, an incandescent word shined on the rock, a warning, and a herald of things to come.
“DANU”.