Whispers in the Wood

*Whispers of the Wood*

In a land where the trees were old enough to gossip and the streams knew every secret, young Linden the elf was sleeping soundly. It was his fifth birthday, a very big deal among elves, because it meant he’d have his first *real* forest dream. His grandmother had wrapped him up snug in a blanket woven from spider silk (the spiders had grumbled about it, but everyone knew she could charm anyone with cookies).

As Linden lay there, the forest creaked and stretched like an old grandparent. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting a soft glow on his bed, while his pointed ears twitched slightly with every night sound.

The dream began with a shiver of laughter. The forest spirits had finally arrived—though a bit late, as spirits tend to be. They were tiny, glowing things with wings like cobwebs, and they hovered above his pillow, discussing their plan.

“Are you sure he’s old enough for this?” one spirit whispered, glancing down at Linden. 

Another spirit shrugged. “Old enough to sleep through Gran Willow’s snoring, so… close enough.”

They fluttered down, and one tapped Linden gently on the nose. Instantly, he found himself in a strange woodland world, with animals he’d only ever heard about in stories. A fox with spectacles sat reading a tiny newspaper, while a rabbit with a monocle inspected his paws with great importance.

“Welcome, youngling,” said the fox, in a voice so wise it could have belonged to a very forgetful professor. “I am Fenwick, the Keeper of Forgotten Socks.”

“Why do socks need keeping?” Linden asked, rubbing his eyes in the dream.

“Oh, they’re terribly mischievous,” Fenwick said, adjusting his spectacles. “One minute they’re on your feet, the next, *poof*, they’ve vanished. Someone’s got to keep them in line.”

Linden giggled, though he wasn’t sure if he understood. Next, a turtle wearing a top hat shuffled over. “I am Lord Slowpoke,” he introduced himself, “Guardian of All Lost Keys. Takes me three days to find one, but that’s the charm of it.”

The dream meandered on, with Linden meeting more curious creatures: a hedgehog who hummed lullabies to tired leaves, a squirrel who bragged about once stealing a human’s shoe, and a choir of sparrows who sang off-key just to be rebellious.

Finally, the tallest of the spirits floated down, her voice as warm as a crackling fire. “This is your gift, young Linden. Tonight, the forest has shared its memories with you.”

Linden scratched his head, which felt oddly lighter without all his usual thoughts. “What am I supposed to do with them?” he asked, a little sheepishly.

“Oh, nothing. Just enjoy them,” the spirit chuckled. “And maybe don’t try to understand all of it. Even *we* don’t quite get why socks disappear.”

The morning light crept into his room as the dream faded, and Linden awoke, smiling. He couldn’t remember much of the dream, but he was left with an inexplicable urge to find his other sock—and a warm feeling, like he’d been given a hundred secret hugs by the forest itself.