The girl kept her word. She went out.
She went a few steps ahead, a little south,
Towards where the forest had just began to sprout.
Quietly, walked the girl from the mountain hut.

The old oak tree was but a dark skeleton on display.
Indistinguishable at night, and a shadow by day.
She ran her palms over the dry branched archway.
Quiet, was the girl from the mountain hut.

She closed her eyes and placed her hands on the bark.
Her palms soon produced the glittering green spark.
Steadily, the magic soon made its mark.
Quiet, was the girl from the mountain hut.

The weeping branches looked up, proud.
Sweet, young leaves started to shroud,
The naked branches – like a fluffy green cloud.
Satisfied, was the girl from the mountain hut.

In all directions, she let her power flow free
When it touched every withered plant, every dead tree,
She simply smiled, as she saw them grow healthy.
Happy, was the girl from the mountain hut.

However, breaking her reverie, she did hear
A loud thud – as from a falling axe or spear –
She turned around to see, who was near.
Shocked, was the girl from the mountain hut.

The man had only come to collect firewood.
But in fear, he dropped his things and quietly stood.
They both thought the other won't venture into this wood.
But wrong, was the girl from the mountain hut.

He ran, shrieking "There's a witch!" all the way back.
With the rumours soon back in action, the path ahead was black.
For the race against time, was this the only track
For the girl from the mountain hut?