Tales from a Listening Land Story 2

Story 2: The Forest That Spoke in Many Ways

The forest noticed the change before anyone else.

When the heat lifted from the valley and cool air returned, the trees stretched their branches more freely. Moss softened. Birds sang longer into the evening. The forest had been listening—and now, it was ready to speak again.

Deep inside this forest lived a child who had grown up among roots and shadows, paths and whispers. The forest was not quiet to her. It hummed, clicked, rustled, and breathed.

She understood it the way others understood words.

One afternoon, while following a stream, she heard something unfamiliar.

Crying.

Not the sharp call of an animal.
Not the wind.

Human.

Carefully, she followed the sound until she found another child sitting on a fallen log, knees pulled close, eyes red from tears.

“I’m lost,” the child said softly. “I can’t find my family.”

The forest child sat beside him, not too close, not too far.

“You’re not alone,” she said. “The forest doesn’t lose people. It only takes time to return them.”

They walked together.

The child asked questions—about bare feet, about animals that didn’t run away, about how paths seemed to open just when needed.

The forest child smiled.
“You don’t walk through the forest,” she explained. “You walk with it.”

When danger appeared, it did not roar. It watched.

And when fear rose, the forest answered.

A silent guide moved beside them. A powerful shape, smooth and alert, carrying them swiftly when the ground grew difficult. The forest child spoke gently, and the creature listened.

As evening fell, a familiar sound reached the air.

Voices calling.

Hope answered hope.

They found the family near the wetlands, tired, frightened—but alive. With care, patience, and many helping hands (and paws), the forest offered a way out.

When the family was safe, the child hugged the forest child tightly.

“I’ll never forget this place,” he said.

“Then you’ve learned its language,” she replied.

That night, the forest settled into rest.

And far away, beyond trees and streams, in the deeper wild where animals watched and remembered, something ancient stirred—aware that another child, in another place, would soon need the same kind of listening.

To be continued…