meeting you at dawn

The Village of Eldergrove

The sun rose gently over Eldergrove, spilling soft light across the rooftops of the small village. From a distance, it looked almost like a painting: smoke curling lazily from stone chimneys, dew clinging to fields that stretched out like emerald blankets, and the towering trees of the Whispering Forest standing watch on the horizon. Eldergrove was not large, nor was it known for great riches, but it carried an air of timelessness. To those who lived there, it was not simply a village—it was home, a place where every creaking door, every winding path, and every fluttering bird belonged to a living story.

At dawn, the village stirred to life in its usual rhythm. Farmers led their cows to pasture, their boots crunching against the damp earth. Merchants began to arrange baskets of berries, herbs, and bread in the small market square. Children darted between houses, chasing each other with sticks and laughter, while elders leaned against doorways, trading news of the weather and harvests. The sound of a hammer rang out from the blacksmith’s forge, blending with the gentle toll of the morning bell from the chapel. Life in Eldergrove followed patterns as old as the village itself, each day a thread in a tapestry of simple traditions.

But for Elara, these familiar rhythms were never quite enough.

Elara was a girl of nine, small and wiry with hair the color of autumn chestnuts and eyes that shimmered with restless curiosity. She loved her village dearly, but she often felt as though the walls of Eldergrove were too small to contain her thoughts. While other children played games or learned trades from their parents, Elara would often wander alone—down to the brook, across the meadows, or toward the edges of the Whispering Forest. She longed for more than chores and lessons; she longed for something magical, something beyond the ordinary.

Her grandmother often scolded her gently. “Elara, child, your head is always in the clouds. The world is wide, yes, but dreams won’t fill your belly.” Her grandmother’s wrinkled hands would tug her back to the hearth, where bread needed kneading or water needed fetching.

But Elara would only smile and whisper under her breath, “Dreams can fill the heart.”

Her parents had been gone for years—taken by a fever that swept through the village when she was very small—so her grandmother raised her in a modest stone cottage at the village’s edge. Despite the loss, Elara rarely felt lonely, for she carried her parents’ stories like treasures inside her. Her father had once told tales of knights who rode into the sky, while her mother had whispered lullabies about stars that could grant wishes. Though her grandmother tried to steer her toward practicality, Elara clung to those stories. To her, they were proof that the world still held wonders, even if hidden.

The Whispering Forest was one such wonder.

From the very first time she’d wandered close, Elara had felt the forest watching her. The villagers spoke of it with a mixture of awe and fear. They said it was ancient, older than Eldergrove itself, and that its trees carried voices of the past. Some claimed they had seen lights dancing in its shadows, while others warned of spirits that lured travelers astray. Children were forbidden to venture too near, and even adults kept to the well-trodden paths.

But Elara was not like the others.

She often sat on a rock at the edge of the forest, gazing into its depths as the wind stirred the branches. To her, the whispers were not frightening but inviting. She would imagine the trees telling stories, their voices hidden in the rustling leaves. Sometimes she swore she could almost hear her name carried on the breeze.

“Why do you stare at the forest so much?” Dain, a boy from the village, had asked her once. He was taller and louder than Elara, always eager for games of wrestling or racing. “Everyone knows it’s cursed.”

“It’s not cursed,” Elara had answered firmly. “It’s alive. And it has secrets.”

Dain had laughed, shaking his head. “Secrets don’t fill baskets of apples. My father says only fools chase shadows.”

“Then I’ll be a fool,” Elara had said with a grin, her eyes never leaving the treeline.

That morning, as the sun climbed higher, Elara lingered by the well in the market square, her chores only half-finished. Around her, villagers bustled with their ordinary tasks, but her gaze kept drifting toward the forest’s edge. Something in the air felt different that day. The wind carried a sharper scent, fresh and almost electric, as though the earth itself was holding its breath.

“Child, are you woolgathering again?” her grandmother called, snapping her from her thoughts. The old woman was balancing a basket of herbs on her hip, her sharp eyes narrowing.

Elara blinked. “No, Grandmother. I was just… listening.”

“Listening to what? Empty air?”

Elara hesitated, then whispered, “The forest.”

Her grandmother’s expression softened for a moment, though her voice stayed firm. “The forest holds dangers you cannot imagine. Best to leave its whispers alone.” She brushed Elara’s cheek with a calloused hand, then turned away.

But Elara could not leave it alone. Not that day.

As she finished her tasks, the pull grew stronger. She tried to shake it off, sweeping the hearth and fetching water, but the sensation only deepened. It was as though an invisible thread tied her heart to the forest, tugging her closer with every passing moment. Her chest tightened with both fear and longing. Something was waiting for her.

That night, as the stars scattered like diamonds across the sky, Elara sat by her window and watched the forest’s dark outline. She traced patterns in the air with her finger, whispering the beginnings of stories only she could hear. “Once upon a time, a girl followed the whispers of the woods…”

Her grandmother’s snores filled the cottage, steady and comforting. Elara should have felt safe, but instead she felt restless, her eyes heavy yet her heart awake. She dreamt of silver light and voices calling her name, of paths lit by glowing flowers and skies that shimmered like water. She dreamt of courage—something she didn’t yet realize she lacked, but knew she would soon need.

When dawn approached, Elara awoke with her heart pounding. The pull was stronger than ever, almost alive. She knew, without question, that the forest was calling.

And though she didn’t yet understand why, she knew she would answer.

please like