Seed's in a rather thoughtful mood this week, and thought he might try his hand at telling a little fairytale, just to shake off some writer's block...And so that he can have a story to tell this little one when he sits with her.

"I know a story I heard once. It's about a place in this forest, one I'm rather fond of; it's a place of beauty and of wonder, and I hope you'll think its legend is likewise, since I thought I might try my hand at telling it to you...




Once upon a time, there was a fountain. Its creation is a story for another day, so let it be a fountain. It was a fountain for remembering; it remembered the water pumped from it endlessly, and so the water flowed endlessly, even long after its creators stopped pumping the handle. It was a gentle fountain, and every day the creatures of the forest came to drink from the water and splash in pool formed by the white stone at its base.

This time in the forest was not very peaceful, however, and one day when the sun was high and blazing hot, scorching its way through the trees, a little dove came flying to the fountain with ragged wingbeats. It hardly looked like the same creature the fountain had always known; the doves who had always come to see the fountain before were white, but this one was stained red with blood. The blood of the dove drained pink into the fountain’s waters, and her breath moved her chest only slightly, with the quick flickering of a dying flame.

“Oh, little dove,” said the fountain “whatever has happened to you?”

“It was the beasts who roam the forest. They leapt upon me while I was flying, and ripped me to pieces,” said the dove in a thin voice. “I am going to die.”
“Surely there must be something I can do to help,” cried the fountain. But the dove shook her head.
“It is too late for me,” said the dove. “But let me drink a little from your waters, and I will be at peace. “

And the fountain cried and cried for its friend the dove. It brought forth water from inside its spring, and let the dove drink. The dove closed her eyes peacefully as the waters sweet and clear as a bell, cool and bright as silver, reached her tongue.

“Will you remember me, friend fountain?” asked the dove.
“Of course,” said the fountain. “I am the fountain that remembers.”
“Will you remember my sharp little wings and my white feathers? Will you remember how I danced in the sky? Will you remember for the others to know?”
“I will remember always,” said the fountain. “I will share your memory like I share my water.”

As the fountain said this, the dove’s little chest slowed and stopped. The dove’s body was cleaned in the waters of the fountain, and her family came and took her away.
But the fountain remembered everything there was about being the dove.

And one day when the sun was low and dim and cool, sinking its way through the trees, a little squirrel came running to the fountain with ragged steps. It hardly looked like the same creature the fountain had always known; the squirrels that had always come to see the fountain before had such proud, bushy tails, but this one had nothing but a bloodied stump and a few loose shreds of fur to drag behind it. The blood of the squirrel striped the grass before the fountain, and dotted the land with red. His eyes moved only slightly, with the dimming light of a dying flame.

“Oh, little squirrel,” said the fountain, “whatever has happened to you?”
“It was the beasts who roam the forest. They leapt upon me while I was climbing and ripped me to pieces,” said the squirrel in a thin voice. “I am going to die.”
“Surely there must be something I can do to help,” cried the fountain. But the squirrel shook his head.
“It is too late for me,” said the squirrel. “But let me drink a little from your waters, and I’ll be satisfied.“

And the fountain cried and cried for its friend the squirrel. It brought forth water from inside its spring, and let the squirrel drink. The squirrel’s breathing slowed as the water, sweet as honey and pure as first love, reached his throat.

“Will you remember me, friend fountain?” asked the squirrel.
“Of course,” said the fountain. “I am the fountain that remembers.”
“Will you remember my white teeth and my big bushy tail? Will you remember how I scaled any height? Will you remember for others to know?”
“I will remember always,” said the fountain. “I will share your memory like I share my water.”

As the fountain said this, the squirrel’s eyes closed at last. The squirrel’s body was cleaned in the waters of the fountain, and his family came and took him away.
But the fountain remembered everything there was about being the squirrel.

And one day when the sun was rising and rosy-tipped, climbing its way through the trees, a little frog came to the fountain with wearied hops. She hardly looked like the same creature the fountain had always known; the frogs who had swam in the fountain before had had such strong, moist legs, but this one’s leg was torn open, moist only with blood. The blood of the frog clouded on the white stone before the fountain, flowing like water. Her body shook very slightly, with the lingering warmth of a dying flame.

“Oh, little frog,” said the fountain, “whatever has happened to you?”
“It was the beasts who roam the forest. They leapt upon me while I was swimming, and ripped me to pieces,” said the frog in a thin voice. “I am going to die.”
“Surely there must be something I can do to help,” cried the fountain. But the frog shook her head.
“It is too late for me,” said the frog. “But let me drink a little from your waters, and that’ll be a fine cap to a fine life.”

And the fountain cried and cried for its friend the frog. It brought forth water from inside its spring, and let the frog drink. The frog’s body relaxed as the water, clean as birdsong and cold as the starry sky, reached her mouth.

“Will you remember me, friend fountain?” asked the frog.
“Of course,” said the fountain. “I am the fountain that remembers.”
“Will you remember my powerful voice and my long, mighty legs? Will you remember how I glided through the water? Will you remember for others to know?”
“I will remember always,” said the fountain. “I will share your memory like I share my water.”

As the fountain said this, the frog’s body stilled at last. Her body was cleansed in the waters of the fountain, and her family came and took her away.
But the fountain remembered everything there was about being the frog.


This happened many more times, with many more animals; always, the fountain offered them their last solace; always, the fountain remembered what they really were, and the feeling of their skins.
And one night, when the moon was high and bright and cold as ice, filling up the fountain’s bowl with its own image, a deer came running before the fountain. Blood ran from bites across its sides and back, but its legs still carried it with strength. The breath of the deer was quick, and its face was wrought with pain and panic.

“Oh, sir deer,” said the fountain, “Whatever has happened to you?”
“It was the beasts who roam the forest. They leapt upon me while I was running, and I barely managed to escape,” said the deer as he caught his breath. “If I escape with only these wounds, I will survive.”

After all the woes that had fallen upon the fountain, its heart leapt with joy to see that today
would be no tragedy “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Let me drink from your waters to recover my strength.” The deer scraped its hoof against the white stone. “I must be able to run fast; if they find me again, they will surely overtake me.”

The fountain brought forth water from inside its spring, and let the deer drink. He sighed in relief as the water, sharp as loneliness and cold as regret, soothed his body.

However, as it drank, the beasts that roamed the forest, all gnashing teeth and silvered claws, came upon the fountain. They hid behind the wind, and the deer did not yet hear their approach. The fountain had never seen such creatures, which were neither wolves nor bears but something in-between, and its stream of water trembled in fear of them.


Because its friend the deer would die. As had the dove, as had the squirrel, as had the frog. It remembered the frog most vividly then, her powerful voice and its long, mighty legs. It remembered then how the frog glided through the water – perhaps, had the frog survived this far, she could have swam in the fountain’s pool and hidden away. It wished it could share this with the deer as it shared its waters.

In that moment, a miracle occurred within the fountain: as it remembered, and as the deer drank, the deer’s shape began to change; he was wrapped in the fountain’s memory of the frog, its legs and its voice, its swimming and its slick skin. Soon, the deer was another frog, looking about in wonder. As he looked around, he spotted the creatures now watching in surprise.

The three beasts began to charge, and so the deer-turned-frog begged the fountain,
“Oh, let me swim in your pool, that I might escape these beasts!”
“Of course you may,” said the fountain. And the deer-turned-frog jumped into the pool at the base of the fountain, to swim in its sweet blue waters. The beasts looked between them and one rose to jump after the deer-turned-frog. It chased the fountain’s friend all around the water, and while none is swifter in the water than the frog, nothing was more tireless than the beasts that roamed the forest in those days, and eventually it caught up to the deer-frog and bit into his leg.


The deer gasped in pain, and the stream of water from the fountain trembled in fear. Because its friend the deer would die, as had the dove, as had the squirrel. It remembered the squirrel most vividly then, his big, bushy tail and his white teeth. It remembered how he scaled and height – perhaps, had the squirrel survived this long, he could have climbed the trees that grew by the fountain and hidden away. It wished it could share this with the deer as it shared its waters.

In that moment, a second miracle occurred within the fountain: as it remembered, and as the deer-frog’s gasp let water into his throat, the deer-frog’s shape began to change; he was wrapped in the fountain’s memory of the squirrel, his quick step and his biting teeth and his proud tail. Soon, the deer was another squirrel, bobbing to the surface and looking about in wonder. As he looked around, he spotted the creatures; one crawling, exhausted, to the edge of the pool, the other two looking on in surprise.

He did not ask the fountain, whose heart was full of delight, to hide; he climbed, as squirrels do, up the skinny birch tree, dislodging the thick green vines that grew at its base. The two beasts looked between them, and one went forth to claw its way up the tree, ripping pieces of white bark away, and leaving only the blackened marks of its claws (this is why, to this day, the birch trees are marked in black). It chased the fountain’s friend all up and down the tree, and while none is swifter in the treetops than the squirrel, nothing was more tireless than the beasts that roamed the forest in those days, and eventually it caught up to the deer-squirrel and ripped away his tail.


The deer-squirrel tumbled back into the water, bruised and bloodied, and the water of the fountain trembled in fear, because its friend the deer would die, as had the dove. It remembered so vividly the dove, with her wings and her feathers white as snow. It remembered with a teary heart her wild dance of flight – perhaps, had the dove survived this far, she could have flown above the fountain and gotten away. It wished it could share this with the deer as it shared its waters.

In that moment, a miracle occurred within the fountain: as it remembered, and as the water dripped into the mouth of the deer, the deer’s shape began to change; he was wrapped in the fountain’s memory of the dove, her ruffling feathers, her swift wingbeats, her bright black eyes. Soon, the deer was another dove, looking about in wonder.

As he looked around, he saw the creatures – One exhausted and beaten by the water, one falling from the tree, and one ready to come at him once more. The beast lunged towards the deer-dove, only to finds its paws empty as the deer-dove shot up into the air. The two were locked in a wild dance, with the beast leaping and running and climbing to reach the deer-dove, who endlessly darted away. But nothing was more tireless in the hunt than the beasts that roamed the forest in those days, and soon it seemed the beast’s great claws would rip apart the wings of the fountain’s friend.

“Please, come!” Said the fountain. “Come and hide beneath my stones, for I do not wish you to die!” The fountain cried. And so the deer-dove glided to a small spot behind the fountain, where the stones were loose enough for such a small creature to pass. When the beast saw this, it dove without thinking, and rammed straight into the top of the fountain. The wind knocked from its lungs, the beast fell back, whimpering and beaten. It took its two comrades and fled, and they were never seen again in the forest.

“Thank you,” said the deer, who took back his own shape, and was a deer with its shining name and proud antlers once more. “Without your miracles, I would not have survived.”

But the fountain’s heart was so glad it could not agree; for in that moment, it had something new to remember: the wonderful miracle that its friend was alive. And it shouted and its heart exploded with joy – and as it remembered that miracle of just a moment ago, and always, thunder shouted, and blossoms exploded into the air, the miracles of the fountain to show the fountain’s heart. The fountain’s waters were not just of remembrance, but waters of joy.

And the deer and the fountain celebrated as the gods celebrate, long into the night. The fountain would share its memories, but most of all, it would share the memories of that miracle, and of that happiness. If that deer did not die, it is probably still alive today.

And as for the fountain? Long, long after, the Gods remembered the fountain who had remembered the spirit of the forest so well, and they allowed it to remember itself again, into this place and time. If you go there, the fountain will remember for you many things: it will remember for you the shape of the frog and the squirrel and the dove, and it will remember for you the shapes and lives other animals, that came from it in later days and asked its memory. It will remember for you the taste of water cool as the moon that night, and pure as first magic.

…And it will show you its wonders, so you will both remember what a miracle it is to be alive."