The small town of Ashford stood at the edge of the forest, where the tree twisted like old vines, watching over the people who lived there for generations. The autumn air grew crisp and the last leaves turned gold, but this year something felt different. The forest felt unusually quiet.  No birds were singing, no wind was blowing. It seemed as if the world was waiting for something to happen – or something to break the silence.

Lena, a younger woman had recently returned to the town a little while back, strolled through the woods every evening, in an attempt to  explain the strange stillness. As a young kid here grandma told her stories of “Whispering Trees,” ancient people who could only be heard by ones who took time to listen. As a child, Lena had laughed at those tales, but now she stood under the oak trees, the towering oak trees, and developed a feeling someone in the distance was watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood whenever she ventured too deep into the woods, as if at a certain distance the trees themselves were speaking an incomprehensible language.

One evening, just as the sun fell behind the horizon line, Lena stumbled upon an old stone well covered in ivy and moss. It was a place she didn’t recognize, even though she had walked these woods a million times as a child. The well seemed to sing a quiet melody. The stones etched with symbols she couldn’t decipher, but could tell they had an important meaning. The well drew her in, and Lena peered over the edge of the well into the dark abyss.

From the bottom of the well a dark melodic whisper rose, as if carried up by the wind. It was a familiar voice – her grandmother’s.

“The forest remembers,” the whisper said ,” and so must you.”  The words sent a chill down Lena’s spine, and at that moment, she understood. The silence in the woods was not emptiness, and instead was waiting. The forest has been waiting for her to return, and for the well to unlock her secrets. Lena had come to guide it home.