Creative Writing: The Chain Tree

The fields were cleared, and the mules were working hard now to clear the fields for planting. It was almost noon, time to eat. They were tired, and they wanted there nosebags, filled with sweet, crunchy grain and oats. Almost time now. They were at the end of the row, and next to it, the chain tree. The chain tree was welcomed to the mules, as it meant they would get a rest. They would be chained up to it, eat, and rest for a few hours, and then go back to work, just as rested as the moment they woke up in the morning.

The man was unhooking there harnesses and leading them by there halters to the tree now. Something was off though. There master had a shotgun, which he never had, and his body language was different. He seamed tense, and
scared too. The mules could smell the nervous sweat on him. Poor guy. Both man and beast ate. Then they heard a trumpet sound and saw many men on horses with a flag and more guns. The man left them there, mounted a horse the other men brought to him, and he left with them. The mules never saw him again.

The mans wife came back the next day to unhitch them from the tree, but left the chain around it. They lived a comfortable life thereafter, ridden every once in a while, but they never again worked the fields. Years later, new growth began to take over, short new trees began poking out of the ground, grass began to grow, and wild flowers ran rampant through the field turned forest. And years after the mules were dead and gone, the trees grew taller and taller, and the chain grew into the tree. Two-hundred years later, it was dubbed The Chain Tree, and so it shall stand for many years to come.