Ten Trees – A Magical Romance of Forest Spirits and Forgiveness

Long ago, nestled on the fringe of a vast and ancient forest, stood a quaint village of no more than four hundred souls. Though most villagers led simple, forgettable lives, this tale is not about them—it is about a few whose destinies brushed against the edge of magic and forever changed their world.

Foremost among them was Wolfe Woodwork, a young man of twenty-one, strong in arm and quiet in manner, who lived with his aging father, Linden, on the far side of town. In their village, tradition dictated that a man remained with his father until marriage, and Wolfe had abided contentedly. Each day, he rose before dawn, prepared breakfast with Linden, and then ventured into the forest to fell trees and send them upriver to the mill.

Though the rhythm of his days was steady and his heart at peace, Wolfe often sensed that Linden hoped for more—for a wife, a home of his own, and perhaps a better life than the one passed down through the generations of woodcutters.

So when Brook, the pompous and pot-bellied father of the radiant Dove, announced he was seeking a suitor for his daughter, Wolfe gathered his courage and offered himself.

Brook, who bore no resemblance to his graceful daughter, sized Wolfe up with a slow, judgmental eye.

“Sooo,” Brook sneered, walking circles around the nervous young man, “you wish to marry my Dove, eh? And your name is…?”

“Wolfe, sir. Wolfe Woodwork.”

“Ah. You work with wood, then?”

“Yes, sir. I’m a lumberman, like my father before me.”

“Well, Wolfe Woodwork the lumberman,” Brook whistled through yellowing teeth, “if you want my daughter, you’ll have to prove your worth. Tomorrow morning, you shall go to the farthest edge of the forest—the Magical Forest—and chop down ten trees. Bring them back to me, alone.”

Wolfe’s face paled.

“The Magical Forest, sir?”

Brook grinned, showing too many teeth. “Yes, that one.”

Everyone knew of the Magical Forest. It was whispered to be the domain of trickster fairies, lurking trolls, cruel goblins, and reclusive witches. No sane soul ventured far into it. But Wolfe had made his offer, and pride—and love—demanded that he follow through.

So the next morning, long before the first rays of dawn kissed the rooftops, Wolfe kissed his father goodbye and vanished into the mist.

🌲 Into the Heart of Magic

By midday, Wolfe reached the tangled outskirts of the Magical Forest. The trees here were older, gnarled, and leaning in on themselves like secret-keepers. The deeper he ventured, the darker it grew. Sunlight could not pierce the thick canopy above. The trunks he passed were crooked and twisted—unfit for timber.

Still, he pressed onward, nerves prickling.

Hours passed in eerie silence. Then, as if guided by fate, he stumbled into a glade of towering, perfectly straight trees. Their bark shimmered like silver bark and their leaves whispered in an unseen breeze.

“What marvels!” he gasped.

“Yes,” said a silken voice, floating through the stillness. “We are marvels, aren’t we?”

Wolfe whirled around, heart pounding.

“What are you? Where are you?” he called.

“We are the Dryads of the Magical Forest,” replied another airy voice. “Guardians of the ten sacred trees. You’ve found us.”

Then, from the trees emerged ten luminous young women, tall and regal, with flowing gowns spun from moss, leaves, and moonlight. Their hair billowed like wild vines, and their eyes glimmered like stars. Each more beautiful than the last.

They invited Wolfe to dine with them beneath the trees. The feast was abundant: herbal teas, fragrant with mystery; wild salads; savory chowder; sweet puddings and jams. The Dryads laughed and asked him question upon question.

“Where are you from?”
“Why have you come?”
“How long will you stay?”
“Won’t you take more tea?”

Wolfe laughed and answered them all, forgetting—briefly—why he had come.

But then one of them, her hair the dark color of rich soil, asked again, “What brings you here?”

Wolfe suddenly remembered. “Forgive me. I must go. There is something I must do.”

The Dryads frowned. “You should stay.”

“I cannot,” Wolfe said, drawing his hatchet.

He approached the first tree and struck it.

Hack! Hack! Hack!

The mighty tree toppled—and with it, one of the Dryads crumpled to the earth, lifeless.

“You’ve killed our sister!” the others cried. “Stop, please!”

“I don’t understand,” Wolfe stammered. “It was just a tree… wasn’t it?”

But as he felled the second, another Dryad fell.

By the time the fourth tree and fourth sister lay on the forest floor, Wolfe understood: each tree was the soul-anchor of a Dryad.

🌿 A Painful Realization

Stricken with remorse, Wolfe fell to his knees. “I have committed a terrible wrong,” he said, bowing low before the remaining six. “I did not know. Please… let me atone. Tell me how.”

There was a long silence.

Then one Dryad stepped forward. “If four of our sisters have fallen, I cannot bear to live without them. Take my tree too.”

One by one, each of the next five sisters requested the same.

Wolfe, now weeping, honored their wishes—each swing of the axe heavier than the last.

Only one Dryad remained.

She was the smallest, the gentlest. Her gown shimmered like moss, and her eyes were the color of spring rain.

She looked at Wolfe—not with hatred, but with softness.

“I do not wish to die,” she whispered. “I do not wish to be alone either. You are not evil, Wolfe Woodwork. You made an honest mistake. You spared those who asked to live, and honored those who wished to die. I see goodness in you.”

She took his hand.

“Perhaps… instead of taking my life, you will take my heart.”

💍 The Unlikely Marriage

Wolfe returned to the village not with timber, but with a bride. When Brook saw that the ten trees were not delivered, he scoffed and dismissed Wolfe entirely. Dove, it turned out, married a wealthy merchant and lived a perfectly dull life.

Wolfe, however, married the tenth Dryad, and they built a home near the border of the Magical Forest. With her guidance, Wolfe planted new trees for every one that had fallen and grew to be not just a lumberman—but a steward of the forest itself.

They lived a long and enchanted life, rooted in forgiveness, love, and the strange, tangled magic that lives between the trees.

🍃 Moral of the Story:

True love cannot be chopped down—it must be nurtured, like the oldest trees in the deepest forests.
Mistakes can break us—but compassion can stitch us back together.