Who can say where dreams begin? As the three figures slept in the grass, the woods changed around them. The bleak greys and muddy browns of the old trees disappeared, and from the burning candle came new colors, new life. Roots spread out and down into the rich earth, branches grew and wove together, buds swelled and burst on every twig, leaves opened to the sun. In a few moments there was a forest where there had only been a handful of sad trees, and there was a singing summer afternoon where there had been only a gloomy winter's evening.
The sun, darting through the branches to gild dandelion seeds on the breeze, threw strange and shifting patterns onto the children's sleeping faces; ever-moving patterns that brushed across their lidded eyes. Then a voice drifted between the trees – an old, rather cracked voice. This is the song it was singing:
Where shall I find thee, yellow primrose? Nodding in the breeze?
In the woods or in the hedgerows, Sleeping 'neath the trees?
And where art though, enchanter's nightshade?
Where the ivy clings?
In some dark, ensnared wood-glade, Ruled by eleven kings?
Where shall I find thee, woodbine-sweet, Where foxgloves proudly grow?
Or dost thou lie 'neath taloned feet, Where wandering breezes blow?
Where shall I spy thee, summer flowers? Beside a rushing stream?
Wilt thou pass away the hours, Lost, as if in dream?
Between the sprawling roots of the trees came an old man, wearing a tattered and faded patchwork gown, tied at the waist with a dirty piece of string. He looked like an eccentric tramp, and as he wandered along singing, he surveyed the forest through grubby spectacles. Eventually, he came across Graham, Gwen and Colin.
He picked up the candle that still burned in the grass and blew it out.
Then, clearing his throat, he spoke several long, blossoming words. The trio woke and looked around. Where Woolton Woods had been there was a thick and thriving forest, and it was summer.
"Blissful slumbers, eh?" said the old man.
The children all looked round at once. "Who are you?"
"Darach."
"Who?"
"I had to wake you."
"How long have we been asleep?" said Gwen.
"I couldn't really say."
"Is this Woolton Woods?" asked Colin.
"A good question!" the old man replied. "But I'm afraid I can't help you. It is – and then again –"
"– It isn't," said Colin.
"That's about it."
There was a pause.
"I don't understand," said Gwen after a moment.
"The candle brought you here."
"The candle," said Graham suddenly. "Where is it?"
"I have it," said the old man. "It's mine."
"But there was a little man. With rings in his ears."
"Wake-Robin," said Darach. The man from Graham's front yard dropped from a branch to land beside the old man. "May I introduce my good friend and tireless colleague, Michelmas Wake-Robin. You, I presume," he pointed at Graham, "are the candle-finder?"
"Yes. And these are my friends, Colin –"
"Good afternoon."
"And Gwen."
"Charmed, I'm sure. Well, now the introductions are done with, we can be off."
"Where to?"
"Questions, questions. Why do they breed such inquisitive children these days? Education has severe drawbacks."
"I think we'd better go home now," said Colin to the others, and added in a low voice, "I think he's a bit doolally."
"Home?" Darach said. "No. I think you'd better come with me."
They followed Darach and the man-creature to the edge of the forest, and looked out across a counterpane of fields and hills melting into the mist-blue distance.
"Where's Woolton gone," cried Graham disbelievingly.
"It has never been here."
"Is this a dream?" Gwen said slowly.
"How should I know?" snapped Darach. "I am Darach the Wise, and I have a job to do, responsibilities to the Queen and the realm. Shall I know if I am living a dream or dreaming a life? No time for fruitless speculation. Well, are you coming or aren't you?"
They followed, and came at last to a tiny, peat-roofed cottage in the deepest part of the forest, its grey walls covered with a choking mass of creepers. Inside, it was dark and smelt of damp earth. While Wake-Robin lit a fire, Darach did his best to make room for the children to sit down, removing a pile of books from one of the two chairs and dumping them on the other. The walls were lined with cages, out of which peered bright- eyed creatures.
"You'll have to stay here for a while, until we can get you to somewhere safer. The roads are watched of course, and there are men about who have dark ideas. We have to be wary. Mulled wine all right? Some bread, perhaps, and a little cheese. A local wine naturally. Sit down on the hearth. Wake-Robin'll get some bracken for you to sleep on." He paused for a moment. "I'm writing a book you know. Well, we've been waiting for you. A bit reticent about lighting the candle, eh?"
"We didn't know – that is –"
"Never mind. It wasn't intended for you."
"Who was it meant for?"
"We were going to select somebody by astrology. Looks like fate did the selecting for us. Just hope she was right."
"What's it about? The book," asked Gwen.
"What's any book about? The same old things. Being born, falling in love, and dying of course. What else is there?"
Evening came. The sun poured from the sky like liquid gold. The wine had gone to the children's heads and once they lay down on the bracken they were asleep. Darach sat by the fire, and having attempted and failed to come to an amicable agreement with his last chapter, gave up and sat gazing into the embers for the rest of the night, thinking.