text: I first heard the Whispers long ago, when I was just a young boy. I had been exploring a nearby forest, I a well renowned adventurer in this kingdom of imagination, when I heard them. They were distant, quiet, following the nature of a Whisper, which is what led me to title them as such, or perhaps it was because at such a young age I had not known what they truly were. For quite some time, I could never find out where the whispers came from, but nearing my 9th birthday celebration, they along with the winds grew louder, and more restless, almost beckoning me into the forest, calling me deep within. I resisted for some time, but childish curiosity eventually overpowered my wavering resolve. One morning, once my father had gone to the fields to plough, and my mother had begun her almost ritual-like tidying of the house, I ventured into the wood. My mother wished me luck on my “big adventure” and I was off. You see, she was quite used to me “Journeying” into the small wood, and she needn't worry about losing me, for it was entirely surrounded on all sides by golden, flowing fields of grain. One of the men working would sooner catch me before I would wander off. However, what she did not expect was that I would be venturing forth brandishing a small knife. I felt no need to tell her of this, for fear of my daily expeditions being severely limited, and of receiving a rather large reprimand from my father. Besides, I needed protection from the Whispers, or as I called them as a child, “The Whisper Monster”. It was nothing more than a figment of my childlike wonder and imagination, however. Those are very powerful things to young’uns. Thus, I ventured forth, my dagger clutched firmly in hand, a security line back to reality. As I entered the forest, my ear caught the sound of the whispers once more, every step ushering them slightly louder. As I bounced playfully from tree trunk to tree trunk, leaping over roots, and shifting aside fallen branches, I felt the undertones of the whispers telling me where to go. Eventually, I found myself in a small clearing, and the voices finally fell silent. In the center was the broken stump of a large, silver birch tree. It must have been felled during a recent storm, because the wood was still fresh. I stared at it, the white bark glittering in the few rays of sunlight that pierced the woods’ thick canopy. Finally the Whispers spoke again, or rather, I should say whisper, because there was only one voice now. It sounded ancient and raspy, yet it was kind and had undertones of softness. It said one word: “Create.” I didn’t know what else to do, but follow the odd and ambiguous command, in fact, I felt compelled to comply. So I did what little I could with my small knife, and childish imagination. I began by carving out a small hollow, maybe size of a small basket. To my surprise what I thought of as hard work at first became as easy as peeling a potato, before I knew it, I could hear my mother calling, and the last lights of sunset were just barely visible through the trunks of the trees. I left the knife and the shavings there, in the recess I had created, and headed on home. When I finally made it back, the sun was well past setting, and the cold of night was beginning to set in. “Did you enjoy your adventure, Dorai?” My mother asked. “I had lots of fun!” “So, did you discover anything new?” I hesitated a moment before answering. “No... But I did fight a toad monster!” In my mind, I apologized to mama for lying. I’d show her once I was done. That I promised myself. “Oh dear, how terrifying. I do hope you let it go in the end.” “Of course mama, like you said: ‘Treat life with respect, but not to your wallet’” It was a saying my grandmother had come up with. I’d heard much about my grandmother, but she had passed before I was born. She was allegedly one of the first settlers of the town, She and Pop-pop were disliked at first, but slowly, they won the townsfolk over with small talk, and the brutal way they dispatched of thieves and the uncouth. According to Mama, she had thrown a purse snatcher clear across town square when Mama was my age. The town became surprisingly peaceful after that. “That’s my cute little boy.” She said smiling, and ruffling my hair a bit. Then, we heard a knock on the door. *Rat tat . . . tat rat tat* That was Papa’s knock! My face must’ve lit up with joy, because mama said: “Go on... or are you going to make him come through the window?” I rushed over to the door, and struggled to pull the heavy oaken door open with my small frame. When I finally pulled it open, there he was, a full parcel of food in his hands. “Honey, I’m home! That’s odd, where’s Dorai?” Not realizing the joke, I called out. “I’m right here, papa!” “Dorai, is that you? Where’d you go?” “I’m down here!” Finally placing the ingredients on the table, he looked down at me again, now without anything to block his vision. “So that’s where you’ve gone, you little devil!” He lifted me into the air, beaming at me. “How’s my special one today?” “I’m feeling pretty high up, papa!” He chuckled, and put me down before breaking out laughing. “You know, he got his wit from you”, Mother interjected. “Aye, that he did, but let us hope he inherited your cooking. It’d be a shame if no one ate anything like you make ever again.” “Oh you... Speaking of, we have something special tonight, in lieu of little Dorai’s birthday.” “What is it mama?” “You’ll just have to wait until after dinner to see, won’t you?” She replied coyly, picking up the ingredients for tonight’s dinner from off the table, and moved them closer to the fire. I was clearly disappointed, but I knew nothing I could do would make mama tell me, so I sat down at the table with papa. There was a soft sizzle as mama put the meat in a pan to cook, and no one spoke for a while. I was the first to break the silence. “How was work, Papa?” “It was wonderful, Dorai. You’ve just got to see how much wheat you can fit onto a single cart. You know, we could use a pair of strong hands like yours.” “Really!?” Mama Spoke once more. “Now you know what we agreed on, Haelsich.” The atmosphere of the room grew deathly cold. She only ever called papa by his first name when she was especially serious, and I could feel the tension, at least until papa opened his mouth. “Yes ma'am. No working the fields together until he’s at least of 12 years.” “Good boy.” “Thank y- what am I, a dog!?” “At times, you might as well be.” “Hey, Muria, not in front of the kid.” papa said shyly, before laughing. I just laughed along, happy they both were there, happy that we were a family. I don’t remember much else from that night, other than the fact that I couldn’t sit still through dinner, anticipation had too much of a hold over me. When my long awaited “surprise” finally came, it was the best fruit tart I’d ever had, or have had since. The next morning I awoke to papa leaving, it was the crack of dawn, but I waved goodbye to him on his way out the door. I sat in bed groggily before reality hit me: My carving! That snapped me wide awake, and I leapt from my bed, quickly scarfed down a bread roll, and made my way out the door. Mama barely had time to wave goodbye before I was under the cover of treeline. It took me much less time to make it to the birch stump this time, I knew the path now. The whispers were still there, growing louder as I drew nearer. They weren’t necessarily scary anymore, I didn’t fear them, at least. They drew me in, pulling me back to the clearing I already knew. There it was, my hollow, with the knife, and shavings still there. It was time to finish my carving. I had an idea, abstract and almost unnoticed, yet as I worked, I almost could hear the material itself telling me where to cut, where to hack away at the material. It felt like such a short time, yet when I finally wiped my brow, the woods were dark, the sun had already set. I could hear mama calling ushering me back, yet I couldn’t find my way back. I didn’t know which way to go in the dark, so I called back “Mama! Help me!” and like that, she was there, holding a lantern, seeing me holding a knife, crying in the dark. At first she couldn’t hold her concern back. “Are you okay?” “Are you hurt?” “You poor thing.” Finally she saw the hollow. I could tell she was furious, but I couldn’t tell why. We had a moment of silence before she finally asked the dreaded question, her voice wavering. “Dorai, did you make this?” “Huh?” “Dorai, did you carve this?” It wasn’t necessarily a masterpiece, but I made it, so naturally I responded. “Yes mama. I was going to show you, I promise.” She looked back at me, tears streaming down her face. “How did you know... she always wanted to see faeries?” “Mama?” I didn’t hear anything else from her that night. She broke down crying right there. When we got back home, she rushed to papa as soon as she saw him, and hugged him tight. I could tell, even at such a young age, that it would be best not to say anything. That night we ate in silence. I didn’t go near the woods anytime soon, not until Mother and Father said we were going to a big city to talk trade at the guild. I walked through those woods, the wonders it once held, now gone to me, and I had only one destination in mind. I made my way to that very stump I had carved years ago, and as I knelt before my little carving, a tiny faerie only a child’s hands and mind could’ve made, I heard those ancient whispers once more. They spoke for the second, and last time in my life. “Thank you” The words made me shiver, not out of fright, but from pride. I had done this. I had been thanked for my work. “Goodbye, Grandma.” my voice was quiet, but I could tell that it had been heard. I lifted myself from the ground, and stood upright. As I left, my knife stayed behind, planted half blade deep in the soil, a headstone of my childhood, and the closing of the first act of my life.