House in the meadow (fictional)
The meadow was warm, safe, and predictable. That ended when the family decided to build their house. The trees cried and wailed, mournful calls echoing across the wind that rushed through the meadow as the sharp edge of an axe cut deep into their trunks. The man drew his bow and notched an arrow, a sharp whistle screaming through the air as the wicked unforgiving tip of the arrow pierced the soft warm body of the panicked elk. The elk cried out with panic and desperation. The meadow was no longer safe.
As the years passed the meadow learned to protect itself. the child's cries of pain and fear violently silenced by the sharp teeth and hooked claws of the bear, the meadows vengeance given form. The Man and the Women wept, the meadow did not care. The man's heart was full of rage and sorrow his eyes wet and hand clasping the cold hand of his child. The meadow did not care. The woman's heart twisted and defiled by rage and sorrow broke as the man walked into the meadows shadow wrapped forest bow in hand arrow at the ready.
The meadow did not care, night fell and the meadow watched, the man yelled into the unforgiving wind defiance being the only tether keeping him from joining his child.
Vengeful eyes watching the man from the forest floor, sharp deadly needle-like fangs sink deep into the soft pink skin of the man's leg. The meadow did not care. Seasons passed as the family that once lived in the meadow disappeared.
The meadow was once again warm safe and predictable.