A talking tree that tells stories of the past

Chapter 1: Elder Oak and the Story Rings

At the edge of a quiet village called Hollowbrook stood an enormous oak tree, so old that nobody could remember a time before it. Its trunk was wide enough for six children to circle with outstretched arms, and its branches spread like a great green umbrella over the village green.

Most people hurried past it without a glance. They were busy with market days and chores, and a tree, after all, was only a tree.

But a nine-year-old girl named Wren was different. She loved to sit beneath the oak with her back against the bark, drawing in her sketchbook. One late autumn afternoon, as golden leaves drifted down around her, she sighed.

"I wish I knew what this village was like long ago," she said to no one in particular. "Everything feels so ordinary now."

Creeeak.

Wren looked up. The branches rustled, though there was no wind. Then a deep, slow voice, like wood groaning in a gentle breeze, rolled down from above.

"Ordinary? Oh, my dear. That is the one thing it has never been."

Wren dropped her pencil. "Who said that?"

"I did," said the voice. "Down here, child."

She turned slowly. In the bark of the great trunk, two knots shifted like sleepy eyes, and a long crease curved upward into something very like a smile.