Three Modern Princesses — A Fresh Take on an Old Forest Tale

It was a bright and crisp autumn morning when the three princesses—Diana, Margaret, and Elizabeth—set off for their favourite pastime: a walk through the enchanting New Forest. The trees were shedding their emerald cloaks in favour of rich autumn hues—burnished reds, deep purples, and warm ambers. The ground crunched delightfully beneath their boots, and the air carried a scent of damp earth and woodsmoke from distant cottages.

Their destination was a charming little village on the other side of the forest, famed for its quaint tea shop by the green, where one could enjoy the finest cakes and scones in all the land. The princesses had walked this route many times before and were confident they knew every bend, every ancient oak, and every babbling brook along the way.

But this morning felt different.

After only a short while, Princess Diana stopped in her tracks, frowning at a gnarled beech tree that stood crookedly to one side.

“This tree isn’t supposed to be here,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “There’s usually a little stream flowing just beyond this point.”

Princess Elizabeth glanced around, furrowing her brow. “I don’t hear the stream either. Are we sure we’re on the right path?”

“I hope we’re not lost,” Diana murmured. “I’ve heard stories about a scary man who lives somewhere in this part of the forest. People say he’s not someone you’d want to meet.”

Princess Margaret, never one to show fear, placed her hands on her hips. “If he’s real, we’ll find him first. Best not to wait around for trouble.”

“And how exactly do you suggest we do that?” asked Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow.

“Simple,” Margaret said, grinning. “We move quietly, keep our eyes open, and listen for anything unusual.”

So the three princesses, regal yet adventurous, began creeping carefully through the woods. They tiptoed over fallen branches, skirted mossy stones, and ducked under low-hanging boughs. Every snapping twig made them freeze, eyes darting in every direction.

For a while, there was only the sound of birds flitting from tree to tree and the occasional rustle of a deer in the undergrowth. But then, a low humming reached their ears—a deep, throaty melody, as if someone were singing to themselves while chopping wood.

The princesses exchanged glances.

“That must be him,” whispered Diana.

Margaret motioned for them to follow, and they moved toward the sound until they reached a clearing. There, beneath an old oak, stood a man with wild grey hair and a long beard, splitting logs with an axe. He looked gruff but not especially terrifying—more like a disheveled lumberjack than a forest fiend.

He paused mid-swing, sensing he wasn’t alone.

“Who’s there?” he called, turning with a glare.

The princesses stepped forward bravely, albeit cautiously. “We didn’t mean to intrude,” Elizabeth said, her voice steady. “We seem to have lost our way.”

The man grunted. “You’re a long way off the usual path. Not many folks wander here. Especially not in crowns and silk coats.”

“We heard tales about a scary man living in these woods,” Diana admitted, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that you?”

The man chuckled, his gruffness softening. “Scary, am I? That’s what they all say. I’m just Old Thom. Been living here since before the roads were paved. Folks don’t like what they don’t understand, so they call me a hermit or a monster.”

Margaret crossed her arms. “If you’re not a monster, prove it. Help us find the path back.”

Old Thom chuckled again, setting his axe aside. “Fair enough. Follow me, your highnesses.”

To their surprise, the old man led them through a winding trail barely visible among the underbrush. He moved with ease, his eyes sharp, his memory of the land perfect. In no time, they emerged near the familiar stream, its waters glittering under the autumn sun.

“Just keep following the stream that way,” Thom pointed. “That’ll take you straight to your village with the fancy tea and cake.”

“Thank you, Old Thom,” Elizabeth said with a graceful nod. “Perhaps you’re not so scary after all.”

Old Thom smiled, a warm glint in his eyes. “Tell that to the next gossiper who calls me a beast.”

The princesses laughed, promising to spread word of his kindness. As they reached the village, the aroma of freshly baked scones and steeping tea welcomed them, but so did a newfound story to share—one where the scary man of the forest turned out to be nothing more than a misunderstood soul with a sharp axe and a gentle heart.

Moral of the Story

Not every frightening tale is true. Sometimes, those we fear are merely misunderstood, and a little courage can uncover kindness in the most unexpected places.