The Whispering Woods

“Shhh... shhh... time to rest.”

Barnaby heard the words slip through the grand oak tree just as the sun dipped below the hills. He sat high in the branches, his fluffy feathers warm from the day. Below him, the Whispering Woods turned soft and blue. Indigo sky rested between the leaves, and little flowers glowed like tiny lamps.

Barnaby blinked. The leaves trembled in the gentle breeze.

“Did you say something?” he asked.

The branches swayed. A cool, leafy smell curled around his beak.

“Shhh... shhh... time to rest.”

Barnaby leaned forward. He wanted to understand. The woods had never spoken so clearly before. Was the whisper coming from the oak? From the moss? From the flowers glowing far below?

He tried to keep his eyes wide.

But his eyelids drooped.

Barnaby gave a quick shake of his head. His feathers puffed up, then settled again. He tucked his toes around the branch and listened harder.

“Shhh... shhh...”

The sound moved through the forest like a slow, gentle song. It brushed past the oak, slipped over the ferns, and curled around a calm pond hidden between the trees.

Barnaby followed it with his eyes.

Near the foot of the oak, Pippin rested with her head on a bed of soft, green moss. Her ears gave one small, sleepy twitch. Then her eyes drifted closed.

“Pippin?” Barnaby called softly.

Pippin opened one eye. “I’m here.”

“Are you all right?”

“I am,” she murmured. “The moss is soft, and the woods are singing.”

Barnaby looked at the moss. It looked as smooth as a green blanket. “But what if you miss something?”

Pippin smiled without opening her eyes. “Perhaps the woods are telling us that nothing needs to be hurried.”

Barnaby thought about that. He wanted to stay awake long enough to learn the woods’ secret. Yet the whisper made his head feel warm and heavy.

He blinked once.

The forest blurred.

He blinked again.

A silver glow floated past his beak.

Barnaby sat up. “Oh!”

A tiny butterfly drifted through the air. Bella’s wings shone like moonlight on water. She did not dart or zip. She moved in a slow, looping wave, rising and falling with each gentle flutter.

A soft chime sounded as she passed.

“Bella,” Barnaby whispered.

Bella floated near his face, then curved toward the flowers below. A trail of silver dust slipped from her wings. It landed on a cluster of pale blue blossoms.

One flower closed its petals.

Then another.

Then another.

Barnaby watched as the flowers folded themselves for the night. Their soft glow faded to a quiet green.

“Are you doing that?” he asked.

Bella drifted in a small circle.

Pippin’s voice came from the moss. “It looks like bedtime magic.”

Barnaby leaned farther over the branch. “But why do the flowers close?”

Bella floated toward a second patch of flowers. Silver dust shimmered behind her. The petals curled inward, safe and snug.

Barnaby listened.

“Shhh... shhh... time to rest.”

The whisper seemed louder near Bella. It was not only in the leaves now. It hummed in the grass and rustled in the ferns. It sounded like the whole forest was breathing slowly together.

Barnaby tried to copy the calm rhythm.

He breathed in.

The air smelled of pine needles and cool earth.

He breathed out.

The oak leaves whispered.

“Shhh... shhh...”

His eyes closed.

Barnaby opened them quickly. “I’m awake.”

Pippin lifted her head a little. “You were dreaming.”

“I was listening.”

“You can listen with sleepy eyes.”

Barnaby frowned. He did not want to miss the answer. “I need to know what the whisper means.”

Pippin rested her chin on the moss again. “Then listen gently. Do not chase it.”

Barnaby tried. He stopped leaning. He stopped turning his head. He let his feathers brush the branch beneath him.

At first, he heard only small sounds. A cricket chirped once. Water lapped against the pond shore. Bella’s wings made a faint, silvery chime.

Then the leaves moved together.

“Shhh... shhh... time to rest.”

Barnaby’s eyes grew heavy again.

He opened them and watched Bella glide down through the trees. Her silver dust touched a row of white flowers, and their petals closed one by one. The glowing butterfly moved on, following the whisper toward the pond.

Barnaby wanted to follow her.

He spread his wings.

The branch dipped gently beneath him. His body felt too sleepy to lift. He folded his wings again.

“Bella is going to the pond,” he called.

Pippin did not answer at once. Her breathing was slow and even. Barnaby looked down and saw her chest rise and fall. Her eyes were fully closed now.

“Pippin?”

“I’m resting,” she whispered. “The woods are safe.”

Barnaby looked at the darkening forest. It was safe and still, but he felt a small worry in his chest. What if Pippin needed him? What if the whisper led her somewhere? What if he fell asleep before he understood?

He climbed down one branch.

Then another.

The bark felt rough beneath his soft feet. The lower he went, the more the whisper filled his ears.

“Shhh... shhh... time to rest.”

...