It was dark, but he preferred it dark.
Only the very bravest dared venture in his black, twisted wood, and many days, not even the wind was that courageous.
He heard the whisper of small, unshod feet, footsteps that faltered, as if they were lost.
Of course they were lost, he thought contemptuously. Fools, they are, if they believe they will slip past me unnoticed.
Old Man Willow gathered his roots in anticipation, and waited to strike.