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Angel's Wood was still, with that curious stillness that precludes the dawn. This stillness had nothing to do with death, but was just a pause before the life and fecundity of the wood burst into a new day, as the nocturnal inhabitants settled into sleep, and the diurnal inhabitants awoke. As the sky got lighter, the wood was slowly filled with birdsong, and it was possible to see the mist that clung to the ground, hiding the underbrush, making the trees that rose above it look somehow disconnected from reality. If a person could have been there, they would have felt the tension of the magic that permeated the woods, but that same magic kept people away, and preserved the serenity of that special place. Today though, was a special day, the day of the Summer Solstice.

Angel's Wood formed a part of England's Ancient Woodland, woodland defined as, ' ... woodland that has existed continuously since 1600 AD or before... ', though Angel's Wood had been around a lot longer than that. When 1600 AD rolled around, Angel's wood had been there for much more than a thousand years, and by now much more than double that. Situated thirty miles to the east, and just a tad south, of Sherwood Forest, the wood sat in a rough triangle between Lincoln, Newark, and Newton-on-Trent. It was bounded on the west side by the River Trent, the south east side by the Fosse Way, the old Roman road, and to the north by what was now the A57 trunk road. The wood was approximately 6 kilometers on a side, so it covered something like eighteen square kilometres, eighteen hundred hectares if you will, or four and a half thousand acres, around seven square miles; take your pick. The wood was made up of mostly native deciduous trees, oak, birch chestnut, horse chestnut, alder, and so on, there were a few pines dotted here and there. Slap bang in the middle though, was a very large, very old, oak tree.

Now this oak tree, was a little different, quite apart from its size. Firstly, you could never find it on Google Earth, or any other satellite imagery for that matter. It couldn't be seen from the air either, though the wood had been overflown many times since human flight became possible. The fact that it was surrounded by old military airfields, including Scampton, home of the legendary Dam Busters of WWII, and Waddington, now home of the RAF's AWACS electronic surveillance fleet, made no difference. It should have been easy to spot, it sat in the exact centre of the wood, not only that, but also in the exact centre of a perfectly circular clearing that extended twenty-five metres beyond the canopy of the great tree. Large trees like this one often killed all the ground cover under the canopy just by dint of denying it sunlight, but in this case, the whole clearing right up to the base of the massive tree, was carpeted in a green sward that would have made an internationally renowned bowling green groundsman weep with pride. This tree was a direct connection with Mother Earth, and was the source of the magic of the wood. Then there was Gaia.

Gaia was a dryad, more specifically the hamadryad of The Tree. She was The Tree, and The Tree was Gaia, they lived, loved, and, should it ever come to pass, died, literally as one. Gaia had taken the name of the mother of all the gods when she was a couple of hundred years old, barely more than a sapling, when she first started studying the ancient Greek pantheon. She said being called Gaia, felt better than being called Mistress Oak, she reckoned that sounded pretty stodgy for a young hamadryad in the first flush of youth. Of course, when you were the Queen of the Wood, your ideas tended to catch on quite rapidly, and now she was universally known as Gaia, though 'mistress', and 'lady', sometimes got tagged on. She was chuffed as mintballs when James Lovelock re-introduced the Earth-mother concept in the nineteen seventies (by the Taker calendar; more about the Takers later), and tied her name to Environmentalism. The fact that she was now the personification of the Earth Goddess when it was needed, just made it more fitting.

Mortal or magic, it was easy to feel humble when you got close to her, when you felt the power of her magic, and the wisdom of her years. Power that seemed to radiate from her in some sort of faintly charged aura that set your skin tingling, and raised every tiny hair on your body. To say she was beautiful was like saying the sea was a bit wet, or the midsummer sun was a bit bright. Her hair was the green of new spring leaves, and fitted to her head almost as closely as a swim cap. Her eyes were faintly oriental in shape, and the dark blue of a summer sky, seeming large in her heart shaped, finely boned face. Her skin was the colour of the heart of her oak, and her body was slim, and undoubtedly womanly, though there was enough muscle rippling beneath the skin to show she had a whipcord strength. She was about seventy-five centimetres tall, and from her back sprouted the most beautiful, iridescent, gossamer wings. She was the corporeal embodiment of the spirit of The Great Oak, the face of the Goddess. Now The Great Oak felt the dawn light touching her leaves, rousing her from her night's slumber. She felt a lover's touch on her bark as she drew her mind into her hamadryad form, and got ready to greet the Solstice morning.

There was a stirring at the western edge of The Clearing, and an imposing figure strode confidently across the grassy sward. No more than sixty centimetres tall, a white beard, trimmed fairly short, covered the lower part of his face. It was definitely a he; the figure was unashamedly naked, and undoubtedly male. A closer look established that the beard was the only hair on the figure's head, his head was hairless, clean as an egg. His face was not exactly handsome, but there was a rugged strength to it, making it a suitable setting for his striking eyes, which were grey-blue at the moment, set either side of a slightly crooked nose. His thick set body was perfectly proportioned, wrapped in muscle, this wasn't the highly defined muscle of a bodybuilder, but the sleek, powerful muscle of an athletic man in the prime of his life. Relatively broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, the stomach not exactly a six-pack, but nor was it overfleshed. His whole body exuded strength. Sturdy, powerful legs, drove him across the sward to The Tree, with the strength and smoothness of a jungle cat. He paused briefly to press his hand against the trunk, bowing his head slightly, then strode to the eastern edge of The Tree's canopy, raising his face, and his arms, to the rising sun.

Aloysius Jerimiah Arbuthnot, also known as AJ, was a Gnome, a practitioner of magic, and guardian of Angel's Wood, and now he prepared to greet the solstice dawn, and celebrate his six-hundred and sixty-seventh birthday. As the edge of the sun rose above the horizon, AJ raised his voice in song. His voice was surprisingly deep and tuneful, and though the words he sang would have been unfamiliar to mortal listeners, the meanings would have danced around the edge of their consciousness, words of greeting; words of praise; words of love. A line of sunlight appeared to strike from the horizon to light up AJ, and The Tree behind him, whilst the rest of the wood seemed to be bathed still in the crepuscular dawn light. As the shaft of sunlight struck The Tree, Gaia's voice rose above AJ's in a soaring soprano descant that danced around and above AJ's basso profundo in a coruscating shower of sound and light that encompassed Angel's Wood in magic, resonated with the very heart of everything living in The Wood, and restored the magic of The Wood for another year.

As the last notes of AJ and Gaia's magical song echoed to silence, the whole wood and all its inhabitants seemed to hold their collective breath. AJ, almost exhausted, sank to his knees, folded up with his belly against his thighs, and lay his forehead and arms against the soft grass in total submission to the Goddess. The final few bars of the song were almost orgasmic for AJ, indeed, it wasn't unknown for him to come explosively, and prematurely scatter the offering of his semen on the sward. As he gradually unfolded himself, he heard Gaia say behind him, 'The only trouble with Summer Solstice mornings, my love, is that I get presented with your fat, hairy, arse winking at me!' She walked towards him.

AJ stood on shaky legs, and turned, holding his arms out at his sides, hands at hip level, palms forward, 'Is this view any better My Queen?'

Gaia's eyes dropped to his impressive erection, which jutted proudly from his groin, and throbbed with the beat of his heart. With three more steps she pressed against him, trapping his engorged cock between their bellies, her hard nipples pressing into his chest. Following the age old ritual, she kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and then his lips as their arms closed about each other. 'Father of The Wood, we must offer The Mother her due.'

After a brief hug, Gaia stepped to AJ's right, maintaining her hold around his waist as he held onto her. Reaching down, she grasped his tumescent cock, and with a few skilful strokes brought him to a body wracking climax. He staggered as his semen burst from his cock in several strong pulses; it fell to the ground, and, rather than hanging on the blades of grass as would normally be the case, the precious liquid was rapidly absorbed into the earth. AJ sank to his knees again, closely followed by Gaia.

They spoke together, well practiced words that they uttered for all the inhabitants of The Wood, 'Mother Goddess, we offer this song, and this seed, in thanks for the past year, in hope for the next, and with hope for future years for our children, and our children's children.'

A gentle contralto voice seemed to fill the clearing, and carry to the outer edges of The Wood, but no further,

Gaia and AJ felt the blessing of Mother Earth wash through them, they felt renewed, and the renewal flowed through them into the soil beneath them, then rushed away from them like a tsunami from an oceanic volcano, until it reached just past the edge of The Wood and ceased. Every year for the last two thousand years or more, this ceremony had been performed in some shape or fashion, and every year the whole boundary of The Wood grew by thirty-five centimetres or so. Gradually, the background noises of The Wood returned to normal, and the inhabitants moved to gather on the green island around The Tree.

The Takers had had that name since well before Angel's Wood was established. Once men had lived in harmony with nature, taking only what was needed, giving back all they could. Gradually that had changed, and although there were still some who realised that the world was finely balanced, there were many more who took, and took, and took, and never gave back. The Takers had lost touch with magic, and instead of working with nature, they fought against it. They even used toxic chemicals to force the earth to give more than was naturally available, then poured the toxic by-products of their technology back into the soil; gradually they were killing what they needed to survive. On a more local level, the Takers that originally came to The Wood had also lost touch with the magic, they just scavenged the undergrowth for firewood, then others came that wanted to fell trees to make boats, or build houses, and these were gently directed to take what the People of The Wood wanted them to have, and no more.

As the decades, and centuries passed, The Wood gently influenced the people that lived around it to treat it with respect, but there were still some who cared little, and loved less. It was not unknown for some of these people to penetrate further into The Wood than they should, and occasionally, they never emerged again. Those that did emerge, were forever changed. The People of The Wood were fiercely protective of their small world, and the magic aided them. On odd occasions, over the centuries, the odd human had been allowed free range of the wood, and granted the ability to tap into its magic. Usually, in years gone by, this had led to them being labelled as witches, or warlocks, by the Takers, and often persecuted. Usually, they escaped this persecution by retreating to the safety of The Wood, and the protection of it's magic, though some didn't succeed, and suffered cruel torture and death. It had been more than two hundred years since the last human had been granted the freedom of The Wood.

On the higher ground at the extreme north-east of The Wood, a spring bubbled to the surface, forming a stream that bisected The Wood, skirting around The Clearing, and The Tree. By the time it reached the centre, near The Tree, it was a clear brook, bubbling happily over a clean gravel bed, and falling over a shallow waterfall into a large shadowed pool. On the far side of the pool from the waterfall, the stream formed again, wider, and slower, and flowed further west. Eventually, it left the wood, flowing down to join the River Fleet, and thence into the Trent. In two thousand years or more, this stream had never been known to dry up, or flood. If The Tree was the heart of The Wood, the brook was the lifeblood, providing the necessary water to irrigate The Wood, and allow it to flourish and grow even in times of drought. Not only that, it provided a home for a multitude of aquatic creatures, from crayfish to a coven of naiads, water nymphs. Strictly speaking, of course, the naiads were amphibious, equally happy on land or in the water, but as the dryads, and hamadryads, were tied to their trees, the naiads were tied to the stream, and never wanted to get too far away from it. Visitors, to both pool and stream, were always welcome though, and the naiads used their magic to keep their pool at a suitable temperature to allow all year bathing. The waterfall was just high enough to be used as a shower, something all the denizens of The Wood appreciated.

The denizens of The Wood were, of course, the dryads, hamadryads, pixies, fairies, and elves, plus all the animals and birds that were needed to ensure an ecological balance. The Wood was self sufficient, providing food, shelter, and clothing for all. Many of the magical beings needed no sustenance from The Wood itself, being part of the magic, and sustained by it. The pixies, fairies, and elves were only there because The Wood was a point where the mundane world and the world of Fairy intersected. Other entities, like AJ, were mainly vegetarian, but needed animal products to provide clothing, shoes, tools, and equipment. The magic of The Wood could provide everything, from a breechclout to a ball gown, but it was mostly illusion, and could not provide the protection needed by people like AJ, who lived and worked in The Wood on a more mundane level. AJ's Gnomish magic was different, it was altogether more powerful, and could manipulate power that transcended the natural world, and could work in the world of the Takers, like the difference between wind power, and atomic power, but without the radioactive waste.

Gnomish magic was limited only by the strength of will of the Gnome in question. Usually, on the odd occasions that witches, and warlocks, were allowed to access Magic, it was the lesser magics of The Wood that they were given. Occasionally though, very occasionally, a witch or warlock would be granted access to the full power of The Goddess, granting them the power of a Gnome.

It was late afternoon on Midsummer's Day, and Iris Griggs wept as she walked. She wept for the loss of her much loved baby, she wept for the miscarriage of justice that had seen her accused, and convicted, for killing the days old child that meant more to her than her own life. She wept for the eight years she had spent in prison, two-thirds of her twelve year minimum sentence for murder; infanticide. She shuddered at the term, a horrible name for a horrible crime. She still didn't know why she'd been released on licence, she'd flatly refused to show remorse for a crime she'd never committed, and parole was very unusual in those circumstances. Add to that the fact that she wasn't eligible for parole until she'd completed her tariff, and it was stranger still.

She'd been sentenced to twelve years to life, so she should have served at least another four years before she was even considered for parole. Iris wept for the way her life had been taken from her. She wept for the treatment she had received in prison, reviled by prison officers and prisoners alike; labelled 'baby killer'. For all intents and purposes, in her mind, she was as good as dead, all that remained was the final cessation of life. That too had come very close during the two attacks on her in prison, despite her death wish she'd somehow, unaccountably, recovered from the multiple stab wounds, but she still carried the ugly scars on her abdomen, breasts, and chest. She wept in the sure and certain knowledge she had been set up by her ex-husband, who had destroyed her child, and her life. She had reached this conclusion by analysing what had happened to her, how her husband had acted before the divorce; after all, she'd had plenty of time to think about it in the loneliness of her cell, especially in the darkest part of the night when the sweet oblivion of sleep evaded her.

She wept at the pain and degradation of the rape that she'd suffered at the hands, and dick, of one of her ex husband's minions just before she was arrested. The police had to practically carry her to the police car, and she'd only been treated at long last so the police didn't have to carry the can for her injuries, the broken and bruised ribs, the tearing of her anus, and the vagina that hadn't even healed from the birth. As for making a complaint, what a total waste of time and energy, shit, who cares about a baby killer? The word 'alleged' didn't appear to be in their vocabulary. She might as well have talked to the cell walls. She even had a suspicion that her rape had been ordered by her ex husband as a means of driving her towards suicide. Somehow though, however desperate she became, she couldn't bring herself to take her own life. She would have been quite happy to be murdered by the other inmates, and they'd tried, but none of the screws had wanted her to die on their watch.

As soon as the door of the pedestrian exit of Holloway prison had closed behind her, she became driven, her brain seemed to shut down, but her body had moved with a purpose. Using the little cash she had, instead of going to the halfway house as she had been directed, she made her way to the Victoria Coach Station, and boarded a coach for the north-east. The minute she did that, her recall to prison was, supposedly, inevitable. Her mind, however seemed to be stuck in neutral, just carried along as her body boarded the coach for the long ride to the East Midlands, then a bus from Newark towards Lincoln via what seemed like a multitude of small villages, finally alighting at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. She got off the bus, and, for some obscure reason, threw her crumpled ticket onto the grass, it was against her nature to leave litter, but she did it without a thought. All thoughts of reporting to her probation officer had been ignored, her hunger had been ignored, everything had been ignored, but her driving need to get to this place. She never questioned how she knew which coach, and bus, to take, or where to get off, or why she was there. Leaving the bus stop, she felt the need to start walking eastward, towards the line of trees that marked the edge of Angel's Wood. Leaving the sun baked meadow that separated The Wood from the road, and entering the canopy of the trees, was like entering an air conditioned room; it was much cooler under the canopy, and the transition in temperature between sun and shade, hid the faint frisson that ran through her body as the magic of The Wood embraced her.

Nothing registered with her except the overpowering urge to get to the deepest part of The Wood. As she heedlessly forced her way through the underbrush, giving no thought to trying to find the easiest route, the light summer dress that she was wearing was gradually torn to shreds by brambles and briars. Scratches and grazes scored her milk white skin, and weals appeared on her almost anorexic ribs as she was whipped by springing branches. The unflattering industrial strength brassiere went next, snagged on a tree branch, and entangled to the point where the easiest way to escape was to remove it. Finally, she scraped her hip on a broken tree limb which opened a four inch gash on her hip and ripped the waist band of her serviceable white cotton panties. Along the way the remnants of her panties worked their way down her legs, and were lost; she had lost her shoes, and now, totally naked, whipped, her body and feet bleeding from a multitude of cuts and scrapes, she staggered into The Clearing. Almost comatose from hunger, dehydration and stress, she fell to her knees just as she entered the area covered by the eerily regular, dome shaped canopy of the great oak. Driven by an all consuming need she didn't understand, she slowly crawled towards the ancient tree, and finally pressed herself against the trunk. Arms spread wide, she clung to the rough bark, heedlessly pressing her small breasts against the harsh surface, unmindful of the pain as her nipples were trapped and scraped by the striations of the bark. She was crying like a lost child, and she wailed her agony into the solidity of the oak, 'Oh Goddess, help me! Please take away this pain! Let me die! Let me die!'

As she slid into unconsciousness, she thought saw this small, beautiful woman, who appeared to have diaphanous wings on her back, and green hair, leaning over her. The woman's eyes were large, their colour the deep blue of a summer sky, and Iris felt she was falling into them as she heard a beautiful contralto voice in her head,

Iris felt peace and love wash over her, and she slipped into darkness in the firm belief that she would never wake again.

Iris opened her eyes. It wasn't something she'd expected to do, but now it had happened, her mind was suddenly overwhelmed by sensation and sight.

Before she'd opened her eyes she'd sensed that she was no longer in The Clearing. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face, her body felt warm and weightless, and she realised that she was floating. There was water lapping sensuously around her body, tantalising the large nipples on her small breasts, and the lips of her vulva. She initially thought she was in a bath of tepid water, but the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, was the forest canopy, the dappled sunlight falling through the leaves, and occasionally, across her body, highlighting her small breasts with their relatively large nipples perched on puffy areolae. The second thing she saw were the identical faces of what she thought were two young girls; obviously twins. It took a moment or two for her to realise that these weren't young girls, there was something about their steel grey eyes that made them seem older, much older, hundreds of years older, and the cascade of silvery hair that draped their otherwise nude bodies seemed other-worldly. They were obviously tiny, probably a third of the size of her own body, but they were perfectly formed, with delicate, somewhat elongated triangular shaped faces with slightly pointed chins, and with distinctly pointed ears hiding in the silver tresses which flowed over their upper body, down to their waist. The hair cascaded either side of identical, beautifully shaped, rosy tipped breasts. Iris started to panic.

She struggled to rise, but one of the nymphs placed a tiny hand between her breasts, and with gentle pressure held her down. 'Shhh ... Gently now Iris, you've had a terrible experience, and you need to heal.'

'Where am I?' As stressed as she was, the inanity of the cliché wasn't lost on Iris, even as she uttered it.

'You're in Angel's Wood, dear one, in The Pool in Angel's Brook. I'm Ripple, and this is my twin sister, Riffle. Gaia and AJ said we were to look after you, and heal you. Your human body was damaged by your long journey to The Tree.' Iris sensed the capitals on the words as Ripple spoke of The Tree.

Iris relaxed against her diminutive nurses, out of the myriad of questions that assaulted her brain, three came to the fore, and were asked, 'Who's Gaia? Who's AJ? What's The Tree?'

Ripple looked down at her patient whose pretty, heart-shaped face, rounder than those of her nurses, framed by inky black hair that was unsullied by grey from her incarceration, lay in her sister's lap. She laughed, her gentle tone sounding like water over stones, 'You've met Gaia, she's the hamadryad of The Tree, she has green hair, and blue eyes, she's the Queen of the Wood, the voice, and embodiment, of The Tree, and the Goddess. AJ is a Gnome, one of the last gnomes, and The Guardian of The Wood; he's favoured by the Goddess too. The Tree is the tree of the world, what the old Norse called Yggdrasil, though of course, Yggdrasil was an ash not an oak. The Tree is a way for the Goddess to be with us, the whole clearing around The Tree belongs to the Goddess, a place where she, and her people, are closest without the people being overwhelmed.'

It was as Iris listened to the gentle voice of her companion, she realised that she was laying with her head in the lap of the silent sister, who had been gently stroking her face and her hair. Ripple's voice died away, and Iris looked up at Riffle, looking past her flat stomach, and the shape of her perky breasts with their rosy nipples, into her grey eyes. Riffle smiled gently, and leaned down to kiss Iris gently on the lips. The kiss was chaste by human standards, but Iris felt it in places that had been dormant for more than eight years. Her puffy nipples sprang to attention, she felt her uterus clench, and moisture gather in her sex. Her surprise must have shown on her face as Riffle lifted her head.

Riffle giggled delightedly, 'Iris, my love, we're water nymphs, sex is what we are, but we are also servants of the Goddess. Through us, the power of the Goddess is passed to you.'

Ripple spoke again, 'Our job now, sweet Iris, is to heal you, to make you whole again, before you become one with the Goddess. AJ will tell you all about it soon.'

Over the next few hours, Iris began to feel other inputs from her body, a gentle tugging on her abdomen made her look down at the ugly scars, the reminders of the attempts on her life in prison. Yes, she'd been well treated, but no effort had been made to lessen the scarring as she was sewn up. Over time, she saw the angry welts soften, and stretch, gradually fading until only whole skin remained. The gash on her hip closed and healed practically before her eyes, the weals on her ribs slowly vanished, and she lost her anorexic look. Over the next four hours or so, her breasts lost their slight sag, her musculature firmed up, and her whole body started to look healthier, and stronger. All this time, Ripple and Riffle talked to her, stroked her, splashed water over her body, and kissed her gently, gradually stroking away the hurts, and stoking the fires of Iris' sexuality to the point where her hips started to undulate as her body began to seek sexual release. The nymphs held Iris' hands, grasped her upper arms, and sat her half way up in the pool, her part closed eyes and flushed body screaming out her sexual arousal.

'Now you need to make an offering to the Goddess, Iris my love, ' said Riffle, as she spoke, she folded her fingers and thumb together, thrust the whole of her tiny right hand up to the wrist into Iris' cunt, and pressed the thumb of her other hand on her clitoris. With just a few strokes, Iris convulsed into a massive orgasm, her vagina clamping round the invading hand, her scream of 'Goddess! Oh Goddess!' echoing around the pool, before her brain overloaded and she slumped into unconsciousness.

Iris opened her eyes again to see AJ standing before her.

Iris rose up in the pool, she stood at the edge, somewhat unsteadily after her long soak, and massive orgasm. She looked at the diminutive figure standing on the sandy beach. AJ, she assumed it was AJ, was less than half her 150 cm or so in height, and dressed in soft leather moccasins, trews, and shirt, reminiscent of Native American dress, or buckskins. The clothes were dyed in varying shades of dark brown, but almost totally without adornment, they could even have been mistaken for the sort of clothes worn in medieval England. She noticed the muscular body, the face that stopped just short of handsome, and the aura of power that surrounded him. She found his eyes disturbing though. She thought, at first, that they were all pupil, they seemed completely black. Then she realised that the irises that surrounded the pupils were black, so they seemed larger than they were. As she looked though, the irises changed colour, streaks of blue, and gold, seeming to grow from the outer edge to the pupil. Eventually they settled for deep blue with the odd gold streak, reminding Iris of Gaia, though Gaia's eyes were just blue, without the gold streaks.

AJ spoke first, as he reached out to take Iris' hands in his own, 'Welcome to Angel's Wood, Iris, ' Iris was struck by his deep voice, so unexpected from someone of such small stature. AJ spoke softly, and Iris felt love and compassion wash over her, bringing tears to her eyes, 'Ripple and Riffle have healed your body, love, it will take us longer to heal your mind, and whilst we can't bring your baby back to you, we can give you justice, peace, and love.'