The sun was just slipping its golden fingers through the curtains when Nela heard quiet giggles under the window. First one, like the rustling of paper. Then another, like a bell tucked in a pocket. And then a whole handful of giggles that rolled around the window sill like peas. - Do you hear? - whispered Nela to Fiuk. Fiuk was a pocket dragon. It fit in the palm of your hand, had scales the colour of a green apple and a tail that liked to form a question mark. When he yawned, it wasn't smoke that rose from his mouth, but warm steam with the smell of apple pie. - 'I can hear it,' muttered Fiuk, dragging his wings. - 'I think it's the leaves laughing. Or... The sun is tickling the morning. The giggles flowed on, past the fence and up to the edge of the Giggly Forest. Nela slipped on her yellow polka dotted wellingtons, tucked Fiuk into her jacket pocket and ran along the path that only her feet and two neighbourhood sparrows knew. The forest smelled of wet wood and honey. The ferns were making nods and the sun's rays were playing tag between the branches. Every few steps Nela heard a quiet giggle, as if someone was saying: "Here I am! Come on!" - See," whispered Fiuk, sliding his nose out of his pocket. - Footsteps. On the moss, just off the path, glistened imprinted leaves. Each glowed like a small lantern. They were maple-shaped, but as if made of morning dew and a piece of rainbow. - 'As if someone was walking around with sparks,' said Nela, and gently put her foot next to it so as not to smudge the glow. The footsteps led deeper and deeper. They passed a trunk that looked like a giant's chair, and a bridge made of three scarred branches. For a moment, a dragonfly with wings like glass hovered above them. Somewhere in the bushes, a hedgehog with a hat made of a leaf rustled - at least that's what Nela thought, because there really was something sticking out on the top of his head. - We're going well - sniffed the air Fiuk. - It smells like... like laughter. The footsteps glistened strongest by the old oak tree. It was so old that its bark had wrinkles like a map of rivers and paths. At its feet were acorns that clattered quietly like beads in the hands. A leaf swayed above the oak, which did not want to fall at all, although the wind was doing pirouettes. Nela put her hand on the bark. It was rough and warm, as if the tree had tea inside. Fiuk sat on her shoulder and blew a little steam. The steam danced, settled on the bark and suddenly lines appeared on the trunk. First one, straight as a ray. Then a second, a third, a fourth. The lines merged and drew a rectangle. - A door," whispered Nela, until her stomach vibrated. A small handle flashed where there had only been a bark before. It looked like a raindrop that had decided not to fall. For a moment, it twitched and cackled like a forest bird. - Are we knocking? - Fiuk asked, tucking his tail under his wings. Nela knocked gently. One. Two. Three. The forest fell silent for a brief moment, as if it had pulled its cap over its ears. Then a squirrel screeched somewhere high up, and a quiet murmur came from the ground, as if the pebbles wanted to say, "We're listening..." The handle was cool. When Nela touched it with her finger, it became suddenly warm, as if someone had squeezed her hand from the inside. At the same time, the acorns by the oak tree began to knock one against the other in a rhythm that Nela did not know, but immediately liked. Knock-knock, knock-knock-knock. Tiny stamps appeared among the lines on the door, curling and twisting like snails. - What does it say there? - Nela squinted her eyes. Fiuk squatted closer. - 'Come in if you can listen to the laughter of the leaves,' he read slowly. - And also: "Don't be late for the ray." - A ray? - Nela raised an eyebrow. - What ray? Before Fiuk could answer, something trembled in the trunk, as if a great heart had sighed. The bark moved silently. The lines shimmered, and a soft light emanated from their centre. It was not glaring. It was like the light in the kitchen when someone is just baking a cake. Warm and fragrant. - Do you hear that? - Fiuk turned his head. - Like... music. Nela heard it too. From deep in the oak came a sound that resembled the laughter of a brook, the clatter of spoons and the purr of a cat on her lap. Around the door, the wind made a circle and repeated incessantly: "Already, already, already...". The acorns rolled to the side, revealing something else. The roots at the foot of the trunk began to move like fingers. They curled and unfurled, laying down a step. Then another. And another. Like a staircase. A staircase that went down into the centre of the tree. Nela looked at Fiuk. Fiuk looked at Nela. They both had eyes as wide as two moons in summer. - Are you holding my sleeve? - asked Nela quietly. - 'I'm holding,' confirmed Fiuk and wrapped his tail around the cuff of her jacket as tightly as he could. Nela put her hand on the door handle. From afar, above the treetops, the shadow of a cloud dragged across, and a drop of dew fell from a spider web drying on a branch and hit her shoe, making a tiny, transparent dot on the rubber. At the same moment, someone - or something - on the other side of the door sighed so softly that the grass around her danced. The doorknob trembled under his fingers. The stairs inside moved a little, as if they were about to start spinning. The sound, that of muttering and laughing, got a tad louder, and something flashed in the light that might have been a rainbow stripe or someone's smile. - Ready? - Fiuk asked, and he himself didn't know whether he wanted to laugh more or hide under the duvet. Nela took a deep breath. The golden light brushed her cheek, like a warm hand. She pressed the handle and felt the door give way. A smell she didn't know flowed from inside - a little like an apple, a little like rain, and a little like the first day of summer holiday. The door vibrated once more, opening a single leaf wide.... and just then a quiet sound came from the dark depths: "Pst!"