There was a forest. Not just any forest.
Far few forests invoke the same feelings of comfort. The same feelings of fantasy.
Once a wonderland, it became wonted with the winding of time. Became familiar.
Yet with each return, after every expedition, everything evolved ever so slightly. An eerie twist of emotion.
We lived on a brambled hill next to the creek. A humble little den nesting the four of us.
The forest was young, open to the bright blue sky at day. At night, the stars hung above, distinctly twinkling.
It was not perfect, but we made it so.
We learned the routes. Learned where the safe spots were.
We fortified the den. Added more layers when the wind blew them away.
We explored the land, travelling further and further until we reached beyond the forest.
Over the years, the forest grew thicker. The stars disappeared into the thickness of the night.
We returned less and less. Though the forest grew, it grew too slow.
We knew we would one day never return. The place that used to be was no more.
However, we did not leave it with spite. We left it with solace.
We remember our den. We remember it fondly, and will always see it as home.
But it was time to pass it along. Pass it to the next dweller to make it their own.
Just as we did.