I made myself busy in the lounge, straightening cushions that didn't need straightening and adjusting ornaments that hadn't been moved. I fiddled with the fireplace tools, aligning them perfectly, while my thoughts turned to Agnes. I used to enjoy elevenses with her, a brief pause in the day, when we would sit and have tea and biscuits together.

Today, though, I was unsure. Would Agnes even want to see me after what happened? She had been hurt because of me, or at least that's what the village seemed to think. I felt a tight band around my chest at the thought.

I completed task after task, wiping down already clean surfaces in the kitchen and rearranging the flowers in the conservatory. I felt like a sapling in a storm, buffeted this way and that, unable to find my footing.

Enough. I needed to clear my head.

I headed out to the garden, where the sun was now higher in the sky, its rays reaching out through the leaves of the oak tree. I settled under its ancient boughs, feeling the cool earth through my clothes as I leaned back against the rough bark.

Here, I could feel the whispers of history echoing through every leaf and root. I could hear the birds singing and the leaves rustling in a language older than time itself. This was a place of peace, of connection, where no words or explanations were needed. My place of meditation.

I sat there, feeling the weight of the decisions ahead of me. Did I try to make things right with Agnes, or did I give her space? I wanted her wisdom and comfort, but my pride and fear warred within me.

I closed my eyes against the dappled sunlight. I needed to find the answer within myself or from the surrounding nature.

The crunch of leaves underfoot announced her before I could see her face. I closed my eyes as I heard Agnes approach. Her presence was like a healing balm to my troubled thoughts.

"I'm not surprised to find you here under the oak. It's where May always went when she needed to think." I was surprised to hear Agnes speak to me with such fondness. "May used to sit here when she needed to think. She never lost her way when she sat here."

I opened my eyes and shuffled over to make room for her. She sat down beside me, lowering herself gracefully onto the ground. I looked to see if I could see any sign of injury, but she seemed completely healed.

"How?" I blurted out. "You were hurt so badly yesterday."

"It's a nymph's gift," Agnes said, running a finger over where the wound had been. "We heal as the earth does. Quietly, without fuss. Like when a tree's bark knits itself back together, or a stream clears after being muddied."

I nodded, watching her closely. "But you said it was my fault yesterday. What did you mean?"

Agnes turned to me, locking eyes with me. There was no accusation in her eyes, just understanding.

"Oh, Evie," she said. "I meant your emotions are strong. They resonate with the earth. When you're upset, the land feels it, so do we."

I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment and guilt.

"So I hurt you when I was upset?"

"Not directly," Agnes said, smiling. "It's more that when you're troubled, it upsets the balance of things. Nymphs are all about balance."

I struggled to take in what she was saying. It was one thing to know I had some influence over plants and soil, but it was another to think that my emotions could hurt someone like Agnes.

"How can I stop it? I can't just stop feeling."

Agnes placed a hand on my knee.

"You'll learn. Just like you've learned to nurture a garden, you'll learn to nurture the peace inside you." Her touch seemed to calm me, steadying me in the whirl of my thoughts.

Balance, I still hadn't asked Fiona how to help me achieve balance.

I thought back to what Cedric had said the other night, his voice in my head about secrets and the Enchanted Oak. Was he hinting at something more than just idle pub chatter? I looked from the oak tree's roots to Agnes beside me.

"Agnes," I said. "Cedric mentioned something about secrets being hidden at the Enchanted Oak. Do you think he meant the pub, or could it be this very tree we're sitting under?"

Agnes pondered this for a moment, running her finger along the grooves in the tree bark. "Well," she said. "Cedric is a man of many layers, much like this old oak. I wouldn't put it past him to speak in riddles. The pub is old, but this tree," she looked up into the branches.

"The tree?" I asked. I could tell she was about to say something important.

"This tree has been here longer than any of us," Agnes said. "It's seen generations come and go. It's heard secrets whispered in its leaves and buried at its roots. If Cedric spoke of the Enchanted Oak and secrets, well, he might be talking about either."

"I've always felt a strong connection to this tree," I said, looking up at its branches. "Gran used to bring me here when I was a kid. She said it was our special place."

Agnes smiled. "And now you've inherited that bond with the land and all its elements. It's no coincidence you're here."

I stood up. "Let's take a closer look then," I said, meeting Agnes's gaze. We examined the tree, searching for any sign or clue that I might have overlooked.

Agnes and I examined the ancient oak, running our fingers over the rough bark, trying to find any hidden secrets. I could feel the earth's heartbeat here, steady beneath my feet.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" I asked.

Agnes didn't respond immediately. She appeared to be listening, her head cocked as if the wind through the leaves was imparting some wisdom that only she could understand.

"Anything that doesn't look right," she said at last. "A carving, an odd knot in the wood, maybe a space between the roots that isn't natural."

I nodded and continued my search. The tree felt alive under my touch, almost vibrating with energy. I wondered if it was responding to my presence or if it was singing its age-old song to anyone who would listen.

We circled the tree, Agnes with her eyes half-closed in concentration, me with my brow furrowed in determination. It was a strange kind of dance. A silent conversation with nature as we both sought answers from an entity far older than either of us.

Then my hand brushed against something that wasn't bark or moss. It was cold and smooth. I stopped to feel it.

"Here," I said softly to Agnes. "There's something here."

Agnes came around to my side of the tree and crouched down beside me. Her hand joined mine, and together we cleared away the ivy that had grown over whatever I had found.

It was a metal plate of some kind, old and green with verdigris, but still firmly attached to the tree. There were symbols on it, not letters or numbers that I recognised, but patterns that seemed familiar in a way that I couldn't place.

"Do you know what this is?" I asked Agnes, unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

Agnes studied the plate for a moment before meeting my eyes. "I think I do," she said, her voice low and filled with awe. "But if I'm right."

She trailed off as we both heard a rustling sound behind us. My heart skipped a beat as we turned towards the noise.

There, just on the edge of where the shadows fell from the oak's branches, was a figure. It was so dark it seemed to absorb the light.

"You shouldn't have found that," said the figure.