CHILD OF ICTIS
Book 3 in the ‘After the Fall’ trilogy
Leaves on the silver birch have turned to gold. On the Rowan they are missing, blown away by the last gale, leaving behind the bright red berries.
Fallen trees, tangled like some infernal game, are silver and grey. Wind tickles the bleached gold grass and burnt sienna gorse, exciting movement. The dead branches, rigid, locked together, are undisturbed. The fastidious breeze ignores them.
On the forest floor the air is still. High above, the canopy thrashes in a south-west gale. Shoals of leaves, freed by the Autumn Equinox and wild weather, make visible rivers in the air. Eventually they fall, building glorious drifts of red-gold and hushing the ground.