Rabbit's Storytelling Circle and How the Old Oak Found His Friend

The evening had grown colder, and Rabbit sat by the fire in his favourite armchair, his paws resting on an old, much-loved book. The flames flickered and cast golden light across the room, warming not just the body but the soul. Tonight was special—not just for Rabbit, but for the Glen itself—for tonight friends, creatures of the Glen, and travellers from across the world had gathered. Though miles apart, they were bound by the glow of shared stories and the comfort of knowing they belonged to this ever-growing circle of friendship.

With a gentle smile and a twinkle in his eye, Rabbit looked out into the warmth of this invisible yet vibrant community. He opened the book, the pages crackling faintly in the stillness, and began:

"Good evening, my dear friends. Tonight, I have a tale to share about loyalty, courage, and the magic that keeps friendships alive, even across the greatest of distances. So, settle in and let me take you to the days of Old Oak and Little Breeze."

When the world was very young, and the earth was just beginning to stretch its green arms toward the sky, the first forest was born. This was no ordinary forest, you understand. Oh no! It was The First Forest, where trees were taller than dreams, and their roots reached down, down, down to touch the memories of the earth.

And at the heart of this forest stood the Old Oak. He was not called Old Oak then, of course. He was simply a sapling with dreams of reaching the stars. But even as a sapling, he was grander than all his neighbours, for he had something rare—patience. While the other trees scrambled and strained to grow faster and taller, Oak stood still, letting the sun, rain, and earth do their work. And so, as the centuries passed, he became the mightiest tree in the forest, his branches like a crown, his roots like an embrace.

Now, Old Oak was wise, as trees often are, but he was also lonely. You see, while he was kind to the squirrels who nibbled his acorns and the birds who nested in his branches, they all came and went with the seasons. No one stayed long enough to listen to his stories.

But one spring morning, something very curious happened. A little breeze, light as a feather and as mischievous as a kitten, came skipping through the forest. She twirled and spun, teasing the flowers and tickling the leaves until the whole forest seemed to giggle. When she reached Old Oak, she stopped suddenly—quite suddenly, I tell you—for she had never seen anything so magnificent in her travels.

"Who are you?" asked Little Breeze, for she was not shy in the least.

"I am Oak," said Old Oak, his deep voice rustling through the glen. "Who are you?"

"I am Little Breeze," she replied, puffing out her chest proudly. "I go wherever I please, carrying stories and secrets from one place to another. What do you do?"

"I stand," said Old Oak. "I watch. I remember. But mostly, I wait."

"Wait for what?" asked Little Breeze, her curiosity tumbling over itself like a stream.

Old Oak thought for a moment. No one had ever asked him this before. "For someone to share my stories with," he said at last.

Little Breeze tilted her head, for she had a very clever head, and she saw at once that she had found something precious in Old Oak—a storykeeper. "Well then," she declared, spinning once around his great trunk, "I shall bring you stories, and in return, you shall tell me yours!"

And just like that, they became friends.

 

As the seasons turned, Little Breeze kept her promise. She brought tales of faraway hills, of oceans that roared like lions and whispered like kittens, of clouds that rumbled and rain that sang. And Old Oak told her of the creatures who had come and gone beneath his shade, of winters long past and springs yet to come.

But the most extraordinary part of their friendship was this: Little Breeze never truly left. Though she travelled far, carrying Oak’s leaves and seeds to distant lands, she always returned, bringing with her the world’s secrets and news.

And so it was that Old Oak, who had waited so patiently for a friend, learned that true friendship is like the wind—it might wander, but it always comes back.

 

Rabbit’s voice softened, the firelight playing on his face as he look at his friends.

"And that, Best Beloved," he said, "is why the trees bow to the breeze, and why the breeze whispers to the trees. For their friendship reminds us that no matter how far we travel or how long we wait, those we love will always find their way back to us—like Little Breeze to Old Oak."

Rabbit closed the book with a satisfying thud. "Good night, my friends," he whispered, "dream of forests and breezes, and remember that we are all connected by the stories we share."

And with that, the fire dimmed, the Glen grew quiet, and Rabbit's friends carried the tale into their dreams, feeling as though they had all been gathered under Old Oak’s shade.

 

A little story written and illustrated for you by Victoria Beata. 

Copyright © 2024 Victoria Beata. All rights reserved.