The Little Boy Who Wandered

Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved to wander. He would wander over the hills beyond the edge of the town, past the fields where the farmers were sweating under the sun, right to the edge of the mysterious forest. The little boy loved the sight of the forest, so green and dark. There were many adventures in there, the boy thought. There was magic and love and glory. He would walk along its edges, enjoying the forest smells, but he never would enter. That was forbidden. Oh, once or twice he took a few steps beyond the line of trees, into the outer edges of the dark wood, before running breathlessly back into the open air, giddy with excitement. But he could never go in properly and explore.

“That is not where you belong,” his mother said one day. “The wood is dangerous. No more wandering. One day soon you’ll be a man, and then you will work in the fields where you will sweat under the sun, like your father and his father before him. And then you will marry, and have a little boy of your own. This is the proper course of life.”

And so the little boy who loved to wander tried not to wander any more. He learned to work in the fields and to sweat under the sun. At first it was very difficult not to stare at the hills beyond the edge of town, and to stop from thinking of what lay beyond, but with time it grew easier.

The little boy got bigger and bigger, and the people of the town began to treat him like a man. But the little boy knew he was still a little boy.

One day, when he was working in the fields and sweating under the sun, the little boy looked at the farmers all around him. Their eyes were empty and sad, and little weary lines marked their brown faces.

“I won’t become like that!” the little boy said to himself, “I’m meant for something more!”

And he threw down his hoe, wiped the sweat from his brow, and wandered away. He wandered over the hills beyond the edge of the town right to the edge of the mysterious forest. Here he hesitated, and his lip trembled with fear.

“Are you going into the wood?” asked a strange voice.

The boy turned and saw a little glowing creature, floating nearby. It looked like a very small woman with wings, and she smiled at the boy and flew happily around his head.

“If you’re going into the wood, you’ll need help,” she said, “I know all the ways of the forest: how to climb over branches, and how to search for the delicious mushrooms, and how to hide from the creatures that would eat you.”

The boy didn’t like the sound of being eaten at all. “I don’t know,” he said, “Is it worth it?”

“Of course!” the little fairy replied, “Life in the forest is magic and wonderful! The cares of the men of your little town won’t ever find you in there, because you are different and you are special.”

“Yes, I am special,” the little boy thought, “No more sweating under the sun for me!”

And so the fairy led the little boy into the wood. She taught him how to climb over branches, and how to search for the delicious mushrooms to eat, and how to hide from the evil creatures that would eat him. And it was scary, but it was exciting, and so very different from life in the little town beyond the hills. The little boy thought of his mother and father, and of their eyes that were empty and sad and of the weary lines that marked their brown faces. And he felt sorry for them sometimes, but there was much to do in the mysterious wood and the boy stayed very busy.

Of course, sometimes he grew discouraged. The mushrooms were difficult to find at times, the branches large and daunting, and the creatures came more and more often. But the little fairy was always there to encourage the little boy.

“You are different,” she said time and time again, “You are special.”

And the little boy believed her and would carry on cheerfully, humming a little tune to himself.

One day the boy met another little boy who was also searching for mushrooms. Then he met another, and a little girl too. There were many little children in the forest looking for mushrooms and places to hide.

“Where did they all come from?” the little boy asked the fairy.

“Why, from the towns and the fields, just like you!” she replied.

“But I thought I was different and special,” he said.

“You are,” she said, smiling, “But so are they. Each and every one of them.”

And then the day came that the fairy told the little boy she couldn’t help him anymore. He knew all the tricks of the forest and he could take care of himself. She had other little boys and girls to help, she said. Other children who were wandering into the wood who would need her help. But she would always remember him, and maybe they would meet again one day. And so she left.

“I don’t need her anymore,” the little boy told himself, “I know how to survive in the forest.”

But there many children now in the wood, and there were not enough mushrooms, and there were not enough places to hide. Many of the little boys and girls got lost, or went hungry, or were eaten by the creatures that roam the night. The little boy worked hard. He fought for the mushrooms all during the day. He chased other little boys away from the places to hide during the night. He survived.

It was hard, but it was worth it – for he was now living in the magic forest. He was different from the people in the town, different from the farmers who worked in the fields and sweated under the sun. He was special.

His fingers turned brown from digging into the forest soil for mushrooms. He became skinny and small enough to hide almost anywhere. His eyes grew empty and sad, and little weary lines marked his brown face.