Whispers

The trees whisper. Not all the time, and not to everyone. Some, like my boy Lewis, find it unsettling, sinister. I quite like it, and often hum back, letting my dragon rumbles echo around my comfy travel-spot. Birds join in too, mostly with their own song, but sometimes they join in the melody of the forest.

What does the woodland song say? I’m not sure, and no-one is. Maybe it is different for all who hear it. Maybe that’s why it frightens Lewis.

I shall sing for him instead, to ease his fretting mind.

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