The Love of a Good Dryad – A Short Story
It was a warm summer’s day and with rain not expected until the late arvo, Steve decided to take a hike up into the high rainforest country. Lower down the forest was mainly Blackbutt and White Mahogany, their massive ancient trunks towering towards the heavens, stretching into the endless blue sky. The higher he climbed the denser it got until eventually the old logging trail he was following petered out. It was easy to get lost up here so he stored a GPS pin and looked around for somewhere to head next.
Steve had been hiking these hills frequently since he’d moved to northern New South Wales following his marriage break-up. In his mid-thirties, tall and slim, he covered distance readily, his long loping gait eating up the kilometres.
Off to his right was a trail he hadn’t noticed before. It looked to lead down into a valley. Taking a few steps along it, he pushed past a fallen limb and looked out over a vista of lush green trees and towering tree ferns. In the distance was what sounded like a waterfall. Spotting an animal trail leading in the general direction, he decided to follow it.