There was something about the scene that filled Rowan with pleasure. In this never ending field of green, there stood a majestic oak. The day’s sunlight seemed to bleach its branches almost black. Those branches curved downwards and from all directions, north and south, creating the trunk. Standing there, Rowan could bathe in the presence of the tree for hours. It was that perfect moment of sitting in contentment; knowing that the slightest movement could disrupt the harmony. Time passed, but not for Rowan.

A chugging, rumbling noise struck up, immediately cutting through Rowan’s reverie. It was the sound of industry. It was the sound of metal, and production, and it filled Rowan with dread. He had to get out of there. He could not be discovered. Quickly rising to his feet, Rowan ran for the field entrance.

The chug-chug-chug sound of the unknown beast followed him. It was getting closer. Turning a hedge corner, he was nearly floored by a cow. Too panicked to stop, he sprinted on. Other cows turned to look, their mouths agape. Excited by this zigzagging intruder, the beasts began to rush about the field in every direction. It was all Rowan could do to avoid being crushed in the milling masses. At last he reached a gate. The metal bars cooled his agitated hands as he clambered over.

It was the sound of industry. It cut through the sweet susurrations of the sunshine day. It was unrelenting, and it filled Rowan with dread.