"A dryad appeared right in front of me, scowling and angry. As far as I could tell this time, she said something like, ‘What dost tha want wi’ me?’
I couldn’t begin to guess how long she had been tending these trees. It had probably been decades, maybe even centuries, since she’d had any dealings with mortal people. I didn’t imagine she’d risk being seen by soldiers, and those web pages had said the army had been buying up land for training before the First World War. Before that? I guessed the priory had been shut down by Henry VIII. Once the monks were gone, people would only come up this way for some occasional wood-cutting or snaring rabbits, maybe foraging for mushrooms in the autumn.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said cautiously. ‘I didn’t mean any offence.’
Like all dryads, she was beautiful, though in a ‘look but don’t even think about touching’ way. She was taller than me, which was unexpected. Her eyes were dark green, not autumnal copper, but she was a lot older than Asca or my mum"
