Written by Carl Malcolm
Art by Sylvain Sarrailh

Doris sat swaddled in her favourite knitted blanket, that was as blue as the morning sky. She swayed gently in her rocking chair on the deck of her treetop hideout. She had her silver curls bound up in hair rollers, a steaming cup of tea in hand and a content smile on her wrinkled face as she watched the sun rise over the lush forest.

Her smile widened at the sound of her rope-pully system creaking. She set down her floral teacup, eased herself up, and by the time she had feeling back in her feet and shuffled over, the bucket was there waiting for her, loaded with fresh supplies.

Doris rifled through the bucket as quickly as her arthritic hands would allow. A ball of turquoise wool, a stick of butter, pocket tissues, teabags and her favourite low-sugar ginger biscuits. Everything that she’d put on the list was there, as well as a nice bottle of sherry. A neatly folded letter sat at the bottom of the bucket with a smiley face scrawled across it.

Doris clutched the letter to her chest, and after tidying all of her supplies away in the cupboards of her treehouse trailer, she settled back in her rocking chair and popped on her good reading glasses. 


I tried your sausage roll recipe this morning but managed to burn them. I’ll give it another go, and if they’re edible then I’ll send them up with next week’s supplies.

They’ve stopped mentioning you in the news, but I know they’re still on the hunt. I couldn’t find much info, but apparently you’ve put construction of that pipeline behind by at least a year. The CEO of the oil company was on the news the other day complaining that you’d cost him millions! He actually turned beetroot at one point, it was brilliant. You just need to hold out up there for another month and then we can move you. 

You’re the greatest,
Love, Meg.

Doris chuckled to herself and drained her teacup.