More fiction. Triggered by Random Art on Wikimedia
There once was a church that was like a castle in the wood, stood behind a curtain wall of rough gray stone. The gate was a forest of iron spikes.
The tower was armed with bells and spires. The steady, black faced clock directed time for all the woods inhabitants. Even the local druid marked it’s hours. It’s weathered gray stone stood firm against the forest darkness. From the wayfarer’s lantern on the post in the yard, shone a golden light that cast a halo in the square at all hours. It was the light of hospitality, of welcome, and holy might.
It housed men who were both soldiers and monks. Some thought the black friars were sinister, but their vows were true to the Light that stood against darkness. The real enemy was not mere night hazard, but the darkness that resided in mens hearts. It stalked them most eagerly when times were desperate, when eyes were wide with fear. Now, as it ever was.