She carved and built, delicately working her fingers, all month, barely stopping. This time she could help, she could do more than hold a banner, or be chained to a gate, this time she could really make a difference!
They laughed at her, the others, but they’d see.
When Maggie scoffed at the idea of a tree house, River bit her lip and bided her time. When Maggie chained herself to the old oak, River kept working. When they cut Maggie’s chains and the bulldozers moved in, River set down her tools and waited.
They laughed, when they saw it, they howled and snickered, but River watched as the engines growled.
It was the faces at the windows, tiny faces, peaked ears and delicate fingers pressed against River’s tiny panes of glass that stopped the laughter.
No motorway would ever cut through the ancient wood that housed fabled little folk…
A tale of survival and whimsy…read the others at Anonymous Legacy’s Visual Dare, and enjoy x