Chapter 26

Una waits by the planted red yew seed, living sparely and guarding the hill as the sapling grows with uncanny speed. She trades her old armor for supplies, refuses to yield Valiance, and becomes a ward of the hills, quietly defending the nearby village. People leave offerings and tell whispered stories as saplings spread and time beneath the yew begins to slip; Una does not age as seasons blur.

The yew matures quickly, its trunk knotted with faces and its shade widening. One day, after a sudden shift of seasons, Owen awakens on the far side of the tree, reborn with white hair and a silver chest scar like Una’s. He remembers her and calls her by her true name, Ulla. They reunite fiercely, accept what each has forgotten, and commit to retelling and perhaps writing their shared story for themselves alone.

The narrative widens into tales of the Green Knight and her scholar that spread across eras. They live in a cottage near the yew, keep their weapons close, and raise a son and a daughter while sheltering deserters, outcasts, and wanderers who seek refuge where kings’ claims fail. Legends tell of thwarted hunts, misplaced time, rescued children, and the wood’s subtle protections.

Visitors come and go: an orange-haired knight searching for a cause, whom the Keeper consoles; Roving Folk who teach and depart; and a woodcutter and his husband warmly embraced. Owen writes their account on ordinary paper, refuses to exploit the yew, and intends to set the manuscript adrift through time for a historian to find. He asks Gilda to deliver it to his father, acknowledging that in her time he and Una will be long gone.

The closing notes accept mortality. Folklore disagrees on details, but agrees that after a long, happy life, the Green Knight and the scholar lie down together among the yew’s roots and do not rise. Postscript messages from Gilda, received in Owen’s time, wryly acknowledge the paradox and hint at future returns.