The Boy and the Hawthorn Tree – A Magical Folk Tale of Siblings and Faerie Magic
In a quiet village nestled beside an ancient forest, there lived two devoted siblings—a clever young girl and her playful younger brother. One chilly evening, their mother asked them to fetch firewood before nightfall. With woven baskets in hand and scarves snug around their necks, the children set off into the trees.
“Stay here and gather these smaller twigs for kindling,” the boy said gently to his sister. “I’ll go a little deeper to find the bigger branches.”
The girl nodded, obedient and careful, while her brother wandered further into the dusky woods, humming a tune as he filled his basket. After a time, tired and aching, he found a peaceful clearing and sat beneath a gnarled old Hawthorn tree, its twisted branches dusted with berries.
“Oh, how hungry I am,” the boy sighed, looking up. Above him hung a cluster of ripe, ruby-red hawberries, glistening with dew. He reached up, plucked a few, and ate them greedily.
Moments later, thirst parched his throat. “Oh, how I wish I had something to drink,” he muttered. Beside him lay a curled leaf, cupped with dew that sparkled like moonlight. He lifted it to his lips and drank. It tasted like the sweetest summer wine.
Then, drowsy and warm, he yawned. “How very tired I feel.” He stretched out under the tree and drifted into a deep, enchanted sleep.
The Forest Spirit
When the boy awoke, the moon was high—and standing before him was a strange little man, no taller than a walking stick. He wore a coat made of bark and moss, and in one gnarled hand, he held a crooked wooden shillelagh.
“Who dares to sleep at the foot of my home?” the little man boomed. “Who eats my berries, drinks my dew, and lies beneath my branches without asking?”
The boy sat up in fright, too startled to speak.
“I asked you a question!” the spirit barked again. “Do you not know the rules of the forest? You have stolen what is not yours!”
“I-I’m sorry,” stammered the boy. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was only hungry and tired.”
“Intent does not erase consequence!” the little man snapped. And before the boy could react, the forest spirit tapped him firmly on the chest with his shillelagh.
The boy stumbled backward… and vanished into the Hawthorn tree.
A Sister’s Courage
Meanwhile, the girl had finished her work and was growing worried. When her brother did not return, she followed his trail into the deeper part of the forest.
She soon came upon the very clearing—and the same crooked little man, pacing angrily beside the tree.
“Where is my brother?” she demanded, fear and fury rising in her voice.
“He ate my berries, drank my wine, and slept beneath my sacred branches,” the man replied. “He belongs to the tree now.”
Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, but she stood her ground. “Then I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back!”
But before she could say more, a sharp SNAP! rang out through the trees. The little man shrieked.
The girl rushed to the sound—and found the forest spirit caught in a hunter’s iron trap, his leg twisted and pinned.
“Please!” he cried out. “Help me! This metal burns me—it’s poison to my kind!”
The girl paused. Her brother was gone. This spirit had taken him. Still… he was in pain. And her heart, though frightened, was kind.
“I’ll help you,” she said softly, “but only if you promise to release my brother.”
“Yes! Yes!” the little man whimpered. “Anything you wish—just free me from this curse!”
With effort, the girl pried open the trap. The forest spirit staggered free. He gave her a curt nod, lifted his shillelagh, and with a flick of his wrist—vanished in a gust of golden leaves.
A moment later, beneath the Hawthorn tree, the boy reappeared, blinking in confusion. His sister gasped, then ran to him, wrapping him in her arms.
A Path Lined with Light
The girl wept with joy, and her tears fell upon the forest floor. As they made their way home hand in hand, little golden buttercups began to bloom behind them, springing up where her tears had touched the ground.
From that day on, the siblings never wandered the forest without each other. And they always left a gift beneath the Hawthorn tree—a ribbon, a sweet, a flower, in gratitude and respect.
Moral of the Story:
Respect the magic of nature, for even the smallest acts have consequences. But kindness, courage, and love can undo even the deepest enchantments.
