Neither Richard, with his eyes on Jack, nor Jack with his eyes on the rope he was climbing up, saw it unwinding from the oak branch where it had been secured.
When the last of his golden fur disappeared below the horizon, I laid back against the red oak, avoiding the stare of the dead woman.
Both of them waited patiently until the servant had closed the oak door behind him and the latch clicked securely back into place.
She noted the far corner near the oak tree and bench on the narrow path toward Glass Hall.
From a rocky outcrop to the trunk of an oak tree were tied two ropes, a top one to hold onto and a bottom rope for feet to slide along.
Pressing her face hard against the carved oak, she tried but failed to hear the words they exchanged.
I left my hiding spot and sprinted around to the back to conceal myself behind a thick oak tree.
The heavy oak door opened, admitting three men along with Wyatt.
I nestled against a broad beech tree, its smooth bark gentler against my back than the alligator bark of red oak or locust.
We walked up the driveway, passing several large and ancient oak trees dripping with Spanish Moss.
