There was once a tiny woman who lived in a cottage deep deep in the woods. She was so quiet that for years, no one knew she existed. She used to walk so softly on fallen leaves that they almost welcomed her bare footsteps. Inside her home, the sun would stretch, dancing with shadows and curling leaves on her pot plants. And in this way, the tiny woman had lived peacefully.
One day, a little girl lost her cat in the woods, and she followed its pendulum tail to the tiny woman’s cottage. The cat slipped through the swinging gate and sat itself on the tiny woman’s porch. The little girl ran through the gate and pounced on the cat before it could brush away again. And just when she was about to leave, cat in hand, the tiny woman creaked her door open.
You see, the tiny woman had never spoken to anyone before. She didn’t know anything of people or cats or little girls. Her voice had never had a purpose before, and she had almost forgotten how to use it. And so she waved the little girl into her home, making her some warm bread to eat. The girl watched as the tiny woman flitted about her home, waltzing this way and that with delicacy.
She told the tiny woman stories. And so they spent their days, shoulder to shoulder, story to story.