Ever since I met Professor Hoot, I can't walk past the Ancient Oak without looking up, just in case. He's never around during the day — according to him, he sleeps while the village is awake, which strikes me as an enormous waste of mornings — but ever since then, the forest that starts right behind the oak has become a different place to me. It used to be just 'the thing behind the garden.' Now it's a place with things inside it I still don't know.
So this afternoon, with the sun coming through the treetops in thick golden lines, as if the forest had its own way of decorating, I kept walking further past the oak than I usually do. Nut saw me go by and said nothing, just followed me with her eyes from her branch, wearing that face of hers that usually means 'it's none of my business what you do, but I'm going to bring it up later anyway.'
I didn't have to go far. A few steps in, between two big ferns, there was something tall and slender, light brown, with very long thin legs that didn't look built for running but probably ran better than mine. It didn't smell like anything I knew. It wasn't startled to see me, which was strange, because almost everything I don't already know runs off before I even get to say hello. It just looked at me, chewing something slowly, with calm dark eyes that seemed to have seen me coming long before I saw her.
'You must be the new puppy,' she said, still chewing. 'They call me Willow. I've been here longer than you've been in this whole village.'
Before I could think of what to say, something small and reddish burst out of some bushes doing a full flip in the air, as if it had spent the whole afternoon waiting for an excuse to do exactly that. It smelled of turned-up earth and something I couldn't name, a strong, slightly mischievous smell. It landed next to me with a grin that seemed too wide to be entirely innocent.
'And I'm Timber,' he said, before Willow could introduce him more calmly. 'Did you come to play or to watch? Because you can do both here, though Willow prefers the second one.'
We played until I ran out of the urge to run, which takes a good while to happen with me. Timber turned out to be the type who steals things just to see the look on your face when you notice, and Willow the type who watches from a safe distance, amused without needing to join in. Between the two of them, they showed me corners of the forest I didn't know existed, though Timber insisted several times that I not tell anyone exactly where they were.
When I got home, I told Nut everything, excited, not holding back a single detail. She stopped splitting the acorn between her paws mid-sentence.
'Timber?' she repeated, in a voice I'd never heard from her, not even when I accidentally step on her tail. 'That fox has spent years digging up my hiding spots. He finds one, takes everything, and leaves the hole open besides, so anyone can see there used to be something there. And Willow, as sweet as she looks, walks right over my buried acorns without watching where she steps, like the whole ground belongs to her for grazing.'
I didn't know what to say. To me, Timber and Willow had been the most fun afternoon I'd had in a long time. To Nut, they were two years of lost acorns and empty holes where a treasure used to be.
Maybe the forest isn't just one place, but as many different places as there are animals looking at it. Mine has ferns, a long-legged friend, and a thief with too much charm. Nut's has empty holes and plenty of reasons not to want to hear their names. Maybe we're both right.
— Max 🐾
🐾 Saturday, Linda narrates: the morning she decided to teach Peanut something only she knew how to do.