In Ivy Valley, where the cottages smelled of bread and wild roses climbed the fences, an old lime tree grew. Its shade lay like a soft blanket, and bees whispered in the blossoms: bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. Right next to it, a stream was splashing, which liked to arrange pebbles into hearts. Zosia was six years old, with two pigtails and eyes more curious than the neighbour's kitten. Franek, a year older, walked around with pockets full of sticks, buttons and unusual treasures that only he could find. They both often played under the linden tree, because Grandma Jagna said it was a good tree and listened to children. - Remember - repeated grandma, mixing honey and milk - in the forest there is Leszy, the protector of trees and paths. You have to say good morning to him, don't break branches and never litter. Then the forest is a friend. That morning the dew glistened like beads. The sun came early, dragged across the roofs and peeked under the lime tree. Zosia was the first to see something strange between the roots. - Franek! - she called out. - Look! On the damp ground lay a clay whistle in the shape of a bird. It had convex wings, tiny eyes and thin patterns like leaves. It was dry, though everything around it was wet. - Where did it come from? - whispered Franek. - It was as if someone had just laid him down. Zosia gently took the whistle in her hands. It was warm, as if the sun itself was shining on it. She put it to her lips and paused. - What if it's not allowed? - she asked. - One must first say hello to the Forest. Franek nodded seriously. They both stood up straight, as if to bow. - Good morning, Leszy - they said together. - 'We've come to listen to the leaves. Zosia blew lightly. A clear sound came from the whistle, as thin as a thread of light. First one - fiuu - then another, a little lower - fjuu. The birds stopped chirping at these words, as if they wanted to hear better. The stream crouched by the stones. Even the wind quieted for a moment, embarrassed. And then something unusual happened. Between the trunks, where fern and moss usually grew, a narrow path flared up. It was not like an ordinary road. You wanted to tread on it with your toes, it glowed so softly. The leaves moved to form a green gate above it, and the smell of lime honey and wet bark came from within the forest. - Can you see it? - Zosia grabbed Frank's hand. - I see it,' he whispered. - Just like in Grandma's story. A deer emerged from the depths of the path. Its antlers shone like the morning sky, and flecks of sunlight were reflected in its coat. He stopped right in front of the children, knelt down slightly, as if bowing, and looked at them with wise eyes. Then he turned and took a few slow steps, stood again, looked around and moved his ears as if to say: "Come." - 'Grandma always said that if you don't want to get lost, hold someone's hand, stay on the path and listen to the leaves,' Franek reminded them. Zosia pressed the whistle to her heart. - 'We'll stay on the path,' she promised in a whisper to the forest. - And we won't pick even a single leaf. As a test, they put a few bread crumbs with butter under a lime tree root. The bees buzzed happily and the trees rustled as softly as if someone had stroked their bark. They took the first step. The path shone more brightly. A second step. Above their heads, a gate of leaves rustled, and off to the side, a redstart flitted and sat on a twig, tilting its head. - Can you hear it? - Zosia asked. A sound came from far away, as if someone was playing very, very quietly on a wooden pipe. The melody was simple and gentle: three notes up, two down, up again. The deer moved its tail and moved on. The forest became different than usual. The mosses looked like little cushions, the ferns like fans and the tall pines like towers. Every step there were hoofprints that glowed a faint gold and disappeared before the children could count to three. - One, two, three... oh, they're gone - giggled Zosia, although her heart was beating faster. Suddenly, a small squirrel with a ponytail as fluffy as a cloud slid out from under the roots of a bush. It crouched down, clicked quietly and rushed towards the luminous path, followed by a dragonfly with wings like glass, flying just above the moss. Everything seemed to know where to go. - I wonder where it's taking us,' muttered Franek. - Just remember, Sophie, no jumping off the path. Zosia nodded so vigorously that her pigtails danced. As they approached the green leafy gate, the wind returned, but it was not ordinary. It came quietly, bringing with it the scent of baked apples and a hint of jingle bells. The branches of a lime tree rustled just above them and formed a shape that resembled a smile. - Is this a sign? - Zosia asked. - Maybe an invitation - replied Franek, although he wasn't sure himself. The deer crossed the gate and disappeared into the half-light. The path dimmed for a moment, like a candle whose uncertain flame is trying to embrace a wick. Zosia squeezed her brother's hand tighter and took a step forward. At the same moment, a quiet but clear whisper, deep as earth and soft as moss, came from deep within the trunk of the lime tree: - Zosia... Frank.... They both froze, as if someone had touched the tips of their shoes with a cool drop of dew. The voice was not threatening. It sounded like the breath of a tree, like the creak of an old bench in the hallway, like the promise that someone was watching. - Do you hear? - Zosia raised her whistle, ready to play again. The leaves stopped for a second. The stream did too, as if it too was lending an ear. Between the knots of the trunk, just above their heads, something they had never seen before began to draw: two round, bright points, as if the light were trying to pierce the bark from the centre....