(“That’s you,” Conor said, pointing at the tree, which for the moment was just a tree.)
“Yes, fine, on the parsonage grounds, there also grew a yew tree.” (“And a very handsome yew tree it was,” said the monster.)
(“If you say so yourself,” Conor said.) Now, the Apothecary wanted the yew tree very badly.
(“He did?” Conor asked. “Why?”) (The monster looked surprised. “The yew tree is the most important of all the healing trees,” it said.
It lives for thousands of years. Its berries, its bark, its leaves, its sap, its pulp, its wood, they all thrum and burn and twist with life.
It can cure almost any ailment man suffers from, mixed and treated by the right apothecary.)
(Conor furrowed his forehead. “You’re making that up.”) (The monster’s face went stormy. “You dare to question me, boy?”)
(“No,” Conor said, stepping back at the monster’s anger. “I’d just never heard that before.”)
(The monster frowned angrily for a moment longer, then got on with the story.)
In order to harvest these things from the tree, the Apothecary would have had to cut it down.
And this the parson would not allow. The yew had stood on this ground long before it was set aside for the church.
A graveyard was already starting to be used and a new church building was in the planning stages.
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