Emma and the Enchanted Forest
A free sample story so you can get a feel for Storysprout before setting anything up.
Deep in the Whispering Woods, where the fireflies danced like tiny stars, a little girl named Emma discovered something extraordinary. Emma had wandered off the familiar mossy path, her red boots squelching happily through the wet leaves, when she noticed that the ancient oak tree ahead had a door — a tiny, round door painted the color of forget-me-nots, no bigger than Emma's favorite storybook.
Emma knelt down and peered through the keyhole. Inside, she could see a warm golden light and hear the faintest sound of music, like bells made of raindrops. "Hello?" Emma whispered, her breath making a little cloud in the cool forest air. To her amazement, the door creaked open — and a small badger with spectacles and a waistcoat of patchwork leaves blinked up at her. "We've been expecting you, Emma," said the badger, in a voice like dried leaves rustling. "The forest has a favor to ask."
Emma's heart fluttered with equal parts excitement and wonder. The badger — who introduced himself as Mr. Bramble — explained that the Great Heartwood Tree at the center of the forest had lost its glow. Without it, the fireflies couldn't find their way home each night, and the forest would grow cold and dark. Only a child with a brave and curious heart could climb to the hollow at the top of the Heartwood and sing it back to life. "But I don't know any special songs," Emma said, honestly. Mr. Bramble smiled beneath his spectacles. "You know one," he said. "The one your mum sings when the night feels too big."
So Emma followed Mr. Bramble deeper into the whispering trees, past the mushroom village where tiny salamanders were hanging lanterns, past the silvery brook where frogs were composing worried little symphonies. When she reached the Great Heartwood Tree — tall as a tower, its bark silver with age — Emma took a slow breath, placed both hands on the rough warm trunk, and began to sing the lullaby her mother always sang. One verse. Two verses. And then, like a sunrise happening all at once, the tree blazed with amber light, warm as a fireplace in winter. The fireflies rose in a great murmuring cloud, finding their way, every one of them. Emma could feel the forest exhale. Mr. Bramble dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief of spider silk. "Extraordinary," he said. And Emma — still in her red boots, still herself — smiled, because she was beginning to believe it too.