Bradobril and the Whispering Apple Tree
Once upon a quiet dawn, in a crooked wooden hut on the edge of a deep emerald forest, lived a boy named Bradobril. He had no family, but he was never lonely, for beside him rested a magic book—a dusty old tome with a soft leather cover that could whisper stories and fill his belly with warm bread or sweet honeycomb when he was hungry.
One crisp autumn morning, with the scent of pine needles in the air, Bradobril ventured into the forest to gather firewood before the frost arrived. As he wandered deeper, he stumbled upon a clearing he had never seen before. In its center stood a solitary apple tree, its branches shimmering faintly as if woven with starlight.
To his astonishment, the tree spoke:
“Pick two apples, dear child,” it murmured, “One for yourself, and if you find it sweet, share the other with a friend.”
Bradobril plucked two glowing apples, bowed politely to the tree, and hurried home. There, he took a careful bite of the first apple, and the crisp, juicy sweetness was like sunlight in his mouth. He turned to the magic book beside him.
“Would you like a taste?” Bradobril asked.
The book’s pages rustled happily, and together they shared the second apple, its sweetness warming their spirits. When the last bite was gone, they both sighed, wishing for more.
“Let’s thank the tree,” Bradobril decided.
Together, the boy and the book returned to the clearing—but the apple tree had vanished. In its place were thick black tar tracks, leading deep into the forest shadows. Without hesitation, Bradobril followed, the magic book whispering softly beside him.
Hours passed, and the day dimmed into twilight. In the distance, they saw a strange hut without windows or doors, smoke curling like a serpent from its crooked chimney. At the back of the hut, chained with cold iron, stood the apple tree, its leaves trembling.
“Help me,” it whispered, “The witch will drain my magic.”
Bradobril’s heart ached, and with the magic book guiding him, they unfastened the heavy chains, freeing the trembling tree. Together, they fled into the forest, leaves and pages rustling as they ran.
Behind them, the witch’s hut groaned, and a scream echoed so fiercely that every branch in the forest shook. The black witch, enraged, flew from the chimney in a cloud of bitter smoke, searching for her stolen tree.
Snow began to fall, silent and cold. Lost, Bradobril, the book, and the apple tree wandered until they saw a bonfire in the distance, with a wolf and a fox whispering beside it. They crept closer, hiding behind a bush, and heard the words:
“Apple tree… anger… witch… reward…”
The magic book rustled loudly in alarm, and the fox’s sharp eyes turned.
“Come closer,” the fox called sweetly, “It’s warm here, and we have sweet fruit jam.”
Sensing the danger in her voice, Bradobril grabbed the book and beckoned the tree, and they turned and fled into the dark, leaving the fox and the wolf unwilling to leave the warmth of the fire to pursue them.
Snowflakes fell heavier now, coating their hair and branches in silver. Shivering, they spotted another fire burning near an old stump where a bear sat cracking hazelnuts, two squirrels bringing him more. They approached timidly, asking if they might warm themselves.
The bear and the squirrels silently shifted aside, making space around the warmth for the weary trio. Bradobril, grateful, shared their journey, his words drifting with the sparks into the cold sky. The bear listened, eyes calm, never speaking.
Suddenly, the fire flared with a foul stench of sulfur, and thick smoke began to twist into the shape of the witch. She had found them. The squirrels huddled close, and the apple tree quivered.
Then the bear stood tall, taking a deep breath, and with a mighty roar, he blew at the smoke. The dark tendrils scattered, dissolving into the cold night, and the witch’s shriek faded into nothingness. She was never seen again.
As dawn broke, painting the snow gold, Bradobril, the magic book, and the apple tree walked home together, the forest peaceful once more. In the warmth of their small hut, they lived together happily, the magic book sharing stories, the apple tree offering fruit, and Bradobril tending them both with love and gratitude.
Moral of the Story
True friendship, courage, and kindness can overcome even the darkest of shadows, and those who help others find warmth and joy that can never be stolen.
