Deep in the winter forest, the oak kings wrestle limb to wooden limb. Their wooden fingers clatter in the bitter ice wind, struggling to find holds, even as their sap blood seeps away into the dark earth. Pulling and tugging at their burnished shrivelled cloaks are sharp green fingers of Holly, eager to climb into their place in the light. In Winters freezing breath and dim light Holly thrives as the Oak Kings fail.
Here a fallen oak dragon lies, it’s skull dissolving slowly back into the dark soil, and a holly sapling sprouts evergreen from its neck.
The eternal struggle lies at our feet, and the season rolls forwards towards the light, with Holly victorious for now.