Artwork and Written Works for Nox

Author's Note: This is the first chapter of a Doctor Who fanfiction I am writing. Y'all are lucky, as no one else has read this yet. I just wanted to give you a sample of my work. Enjoy!

-----


It wasn't a particularly special day. There was certainly nothing extraordinary about the way the wind whispered through the tree-tops, or the angle the warm, refreshing rays of sunlight shone down upon the face of the little house. There wasn't even anything interesting about the way the birds twittered to one another. There was absolutely nothing peculiar or the least bit noteworthy about this day, and no one, not even you, my dear reader, knew the magnitude of the significance of this seemingly ordinary day.

Leaves crunched in disregard to the noise they were making, and the creator of these noises didn't seem to have to much affliction towards it, either. A pair of small feet trampled across the rough burnt orange and muggy brown carpet with a pace that could only be described as anticipation, like a child running down the stairs on Christmas morning. Each step brought the being closer to their destination. Each breath brought a new level of expectation.

Hazel eyes would dart from tree to tree, fern to fern, recognition pooling deep within the multiple shades of green, gold, and brown. The owner of these eyes knew exactly where they were going, and it was apparent that they had trekked this path many, many times. A smile was curled delicately across a pair of pink, dainty lips, and a deep breath of fresh air was drawn in, then pushed out gently.

There was a clearing ahead, an area where the trees separated only momentarily to allow a small encirclement of flowers and grass to spring forth. It was almost as if, the forest was being fair. The trees covered the entire area, and the flowers and grass simply couldn't grow when they were overshadowed by the tall pines, dogwoods, and maples, unlike the ferns, which sprung up even in the cool shadow of the enormous trees. So, the opening was simply a special spot that the forest had set aside specifically for the more delicate plants to grow. Or, at least, that's what she had always believed.

As she stepped into the warm, summer beams of sunlight, she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, taking another deep breath. “Another day,” she sighed, her eyes opening slowly. Swiftly, fluently, as though she had done this a million times, she stole across the tall grass, to an insignificant looking stump. It was a rather inappreciable looking thing. It was old, cracked, and lacked a certain appeal, but she smiled at it nonetheless, turning and sitting down on it.

She faced the open area, setting a basket down in front of her legs. It was a simple basket; there were no ribbons, no designs, no special stains.. It was only a light, yellow-brown woven in the simplest of ways, made probably by someone rather new to the weaving business. But it held its contents well, and that was all she needed.

The young woman did not open the basket. She did not flip the lid open to take out its contents, so one could only assume that the basket was not meant for her, but for someone else. But for whose enjoyment was the basket for, do you ask? For whom was it meant? To whom had she brought the basket for? Patience! You'll find out if you only keep reading!

Our young miss pulled a small, yellow, leather book out from under her arm, and a pencil from behind her ear, and opened it up, nearly towards the last of the pages. “Day 2,980. Still no Doctor. It's been so long, I'm not sure I'd even recognize him if I saw him. But I know it must be soon. It has to be..”

She paused, glancing upwards, and using her left hand to push back a lock of short, light brown hair behind her ear, only to have it slip out discreetly to hang in front of her eyes again, but she didn't try to tuck it behind her ear again; she simply returned to her writing.

“Today, Mother asked me why I make fishsticks all the time, and buy so much custard, considering I don't really like either. I didn't know what to tell her, so I told her that I had learned it from an old friend, and that I had to keep the tradition. I think she worries about my mental stability.. And rightly so. Sometimes I even wonder myself!” she smiled a bit as she wrote. “Luckily though, I'm spending my own money, so I don't think she cares too much.”

Her eyes flickered upwards again, only to meet with an empty clearing. Absolutely nothing particular awaited her gaze. Another sigh, and her attention was turned back to her book. “You know, I'm beginning to doubt the whole thing myself. All this time, all eight years, I never once doubted what I'd seen. But it's starting to weigh down on me. Eight years, and he still hasn't returned, like he said he would. At this very spot, and I'm absolutely sure this is the right location. He'd shown me it. Among other things.. anyways, I've come here, everyday for the past eight years, with a heavy basket and an heart weighed with anticipation, and still, I wait. When will I no longer wait?”

She signed the bottom of the page, “Fern Spadden”, for the 2,980th time.

The day was spent in silence, apart from the birds singing sweetly in the tree tops. The sun began to set, and she knew that she'd have to leave soon. With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself up to her feet, reaching down, where a small, petite hand wrapped itself around the handle of the woven basket. She began to trek across the path once more, head hanging. This happened every time though. She always felt this disappointment at the end of the day. But soon, she would brighten up at the thought, 'Tomorrow! Definitely tomorrow!'.

But she was running out of tomorrows.

Fern was only halfway out of the woods when an odd noise rang through the air. Such a strange wheezing noise would have been overlooked by anyone else. “What a weird noise!” They would proclaim in momentary curiosity, but would soon forget all about it, and continue on with what they had been previously doing. But not Fern. Oh, no, not Fern. She whipped around and stared down the path with the widest eyes that had no measure of words that could describe the pure, full emotion in them.

She broke into a run- wind whipped past her, throwing her waist length braid back and forth wildly and in unsteady rhythm as she made towards her clearing. She only paused at the opening, sliding to a halt so quickly that it nearly threw her off balance. Her mouth gaped open in shock, disbelief, and total astonishment.

“No way..” Fern breathed, but soon, a wide smile spread across her face.

A lone blue box stood in the middle of the clearing. Tall grass bent around its frame, and a warm, golden light spilled out of the windows at the top. A sign on all four sides of this box glowed with promisingly bold words, “Police Public Call Box”, but she knew what it really was.