The Guardian of Nemisia

He turned into the lane leading to home, serenaded by the haunting sigh of the breeze in the branches of the trees above. As he ambled along, the rustling leaves above personified the sound of whispered voices. He paused and looked up the constantly changing mosaic patterns of the leaves on the swaying branches, the fleeting glimpses of sunlight down on him. He contemplated the eerie sounds, convincing himself he had allowed his imagination to run away with him. While he was standing quietly there, the muttering sounds became clearer—the names “Vicky” and “Jamie” clearly drifting down through the confusion of whispering voices.