Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome back to Sleepy Stories. I'm your host, Lucy,
Speaker 1: and my friends and I will be reading you a
Speaker 1: sleepy bedtime story every week to relax you and to
Speaker 1: help you to drift off into a RESTful sleep. From
Speaker 1: time to time, we will also read you a relaxing,
Speaker 1: peaceful meditation that will take you somewhere beautiful and calming.
Speaker 1: Once we have read the stories, we will then read
Speaker 1: them a second time, but this time they will be
Speaker 1: read read even slower. This will help you to relax
Speaker 1: even more. Before we begin, I would like you to
Speaker 1: close your eyes and breathe in and out nice and deeply.
Speaker 1: Take a few seconds to inhale, and then hold your
Speaker 1: breath for a few seconds more, and then release and
Speaker 1: breathe out. Do this a few times if you need to.
Speaker 1: While you listen to the music and you listen to
Speaker 1: my voice, give yourself time to let your body relax
Speaker 1: and your mind settle. It's important that we allow time
Speaker 1: for us to feel safe, cozy, and completely at ease.
Speaker 1: And now it's time for this week's story. If you
Speaker 1: were to walk to the very end of Winterbury Lane
Speaker 1: in the little village of Hearthmore, you'd find a meadow,
Speaker 1: where the snow always seemed to fall a little softer,
Speaker 1: sparkle a little brighter, and stay a little longer than
Speaker 1: anywhere else. The villagers said the meadow was enchanted, though
Speaker 1: no one could quite agree on how or why. Children
Speaker 1: claimed it was because the stars touched the ground there.
Speaker 1: Adults said it was just the wind patterns. But the truth,
Speaker 1: though very few ever knew it, was that the meadow
Speaker 1: had been chosen long ago as a resting place for
Speaker 1: winter's gentle magic. On the first snowy weekend of December,
Speaker 1: the children of Hearthmore gathered in the meadow to build snowmen.
Speaker 1: Some made tall ones, some made tiny ones, and some
Speaker 1: made lopsided creations that leaned dangerously like sleepy giants. But
Speaker 1: Elsie Wren and her best friend Toby Finch were determined
Speaker 1: to build the perfect snowman. They worked all afternoon, rolling
Speaker 1: huge snowballs until their mittens soaked through and their cheeks
Speaker 1: were pink and glowing. Elsie crafted the bottom sphere so
Speaker 1: smooth it looked like it had been polished. Toby shaped
Speaker 1: the middle with comic seriousness, patting it firmly until it
Speaker 1: held together. They lifted the head round, bright and beautifully white.
Speaker 1: Now he needs a name, Elsie declared. Toby studied their creation.
Speaker 1: It had pebble eyes that sparkled unusually, a carrot nose
Speaker 1: slightly bent to the left, and a smile made of
Speaker 1: coal that curved up mischievously. He looks like a Brumble,
Speaker 1: Toby said. At last, Elsie burst into laughter. Brumble, that's
Speaker 1: not even a name. It is now, Toby said, proudly.
Speaker 1: So Brumble he became. They gave him a scarf that
Speaker 1: Elsie had knitted herself, with only seven holes this time,
Speaker 1: a wooly hat Toby's granny had made, and two branches
Speaker 1: for arms. Crooked but expressive, Brumble looked like he might
Speaker 1: wave at any moment. As the sun dipped low and
Speaker 1: the sky turned lavender, Elsie gazed at Brumble thoughtfully. If
Speaker 1: magic ever came to life, she whispered, I'd want it
Speaker 1: to choose him. Toby grinned. Imagine Brumble coming alive and
Speaker 1: going on adventures. He'd be the bravest snowman ever. They laughed,
Speaker 1: gathered their things, and ran home before their parents started
Speaker 1: shouting about frozen toes. The meadow grew quiet until the
Speaker 1: moon rose It was a full moon, round as a lantern,
Speaker 1: bright as a polished coin. As its silvery light touched Brumble,
Speaker 1: something stirred in the air, soft as a breath and
Speaker 1: tingling like the first spark of a firework. A single
Speaker 1: snowflake drifted from the sky, glowing faintly, then another and another.
Speaker 1: The glowing flakes gathered around Brumble's head, swirling gently. His
Speaker 1: pebble eyes shimmered, his cold smile twitched. Then with a
Speaker 1: soft wump, Brumble straightened. He blinked twice, and then Brumble
Speaker 1: the Snowman came to life. Ho, he exclaimed in a
Speaker 1: deep rumbling voice, surprised at his own sound. Ho, Ho, Well, now,
Speaker 1: what's this? Two legs, two arms, and a head full
Speaker 1: of snow and I'm awake. Oh what a fine feeling.
Speaker 1: He looked down at himself, admiring his branch arms, swinging
Speaker 1: them as though testing them out. He lifted each foot
Speaker 1: and marveled at the crunch of snow beneath him. I've
Speaker 1: been built beautifully, Brumble declared. Whoever made me gave their
Speaker 1: whole hearts to the task, and something tells me I've
Speaker 1: not woken without a reason. For snow men rarely wake
Speaker 1: unless there's need, And indeed the meadow shimmered with magic,
Speaker 1: as if urging him onward. Suddenly, something small and bright
Speaker 1: zipped past him, so fast that Brumble toppled backward into
Speaker 1: a soft mound of snow. He scrambled upright, brushing himself off.
Speaker 1: What was that? Another flash zipped by, this time circling
Speaker 1: him once before darting into the woods. It sparkled, like
Speaker 1: a piece of starlight with wings, a snow sprite. Brumble gasped,
Speaker 1: I thought they were only tails. Snow sprites only appeared
Speaker 1: when winter was out of balance, when some magic had
Speaker 1: gone missing or been misplaced, and if one was flying
Speaker 1: eyeing frantically, something must indeed be wrong. Brumble placed his
Speaker 1: hands on his snowy hips. Well, then, seems I've awakened
Speaker 1: just in time for a quest. He marched toward the
Speaker 1: trees with enormous enthusiasm. Brumble, the brave, Brumble, the bold, Brumble,
Speaker 1: the possibly lost. He paused, which way did the sprite go?
Speaker 1: A sparkle flickered between the branches, guiding him. Brumble dashed
Speaker 1: into the woods, ducking under branches, skidding over roots, and
Speaker 1: occasionally tripping which was expected, considering he had never walked before.
Speaker 1: He found the snow sprite shivering on a frozen log,
Speaker 1: flickering weakly. Oh, dear, Brumble cried, what's happened to you,
Speaker 1: little spark. The sprite buzzed, a faint chiming sound, like
Speaker 1: wind passing through icicles. Snow men, being winterborne, could understand
Speaker 1: their language. You're saying the winter Star is missing, Brumble translated,
Speaker 1: the one that keeps the balance of winter kindness, the
Speaker 1: star that helps warmth and cold live together peacefully. The
Speaker 1: sprite flickered dimly. Oh, that is a pickle, Brumble muttered.
Speaker 1: Without it, the village might freeze too cold or thaw
Speaker 1: too quickly. Snow might fall too heavy or not at all.
Speaker 1: Winter must be balanced, or Christmas magic falters. The sprite
Speaker 1: chimed again. Someone stole it. Brumble gasped, who would steal
Speaker 1: a winter star? The sprite shivered and conjured a tiny
Speaker 1: icy image in the air, a silhouette of a hunched
Speaker 1: figure wearing a ragged cloak slipping into the mountains. The
Speaker 1: frost thief, Brumble whispered, he steals winter magic out of envy,
Speaker 1: and he's run off to the Crystal Gorge. The sprite
Speaker 1: buzzed urgently. I'll go, Brumble said, bravely, you stay and rest.
Speaker 1: I Rumble of Hearthmore will retrieve the winter Star. He
Speaker 1: puffed out his snowy chest and set off toward the mountains.
Speaker 1: His journey was not graceful. On his way, he sank
Speaker 1: into deep drifts, lost his hat twice to the wind,
Speaker 1: tripped over a fox who was not amused, and once
Speaker 1: slid down a hill so fast he screamed happily all
Speaker 1: the way to the bottom. But each time he fell
Speaker 1: he stood up again. Snowfalls, Brumble said, and so do I,
Speaker 1: but both get up again. By dawn he reached the
Speaker 1: foot of the Crystal Gorge, an enormous canyon filled with
Speaker 1: towering eyes, ice pillars that chimed like enormous wind chimes
Speaker 1: in the breeze. The sound was beautiful, but eerie, echoing
Speaker 1: across the mountains. Hoho, Brumble whispered, No wonder thieves hide here.
Speaker 1: He stepped inside the gorge glittered brilliantly, refracting light into
Speaker 1: rainbow patterns. Snow hissed under his feet. Then through the
Speaker 1: icy glow, Brumble spotted a cave where shadows twisted unnaturally inside.
Speaker 1: Hunched over a glowing object wrapped in cloth, was the
Speaker 1: frost Thief. He was thin, cold looking, with a cloak
Speaker 1: made of icicle and a hood that hid most of
Speaker 1: his face. Snow swirled around him in chaotic bursts, as
Speaker 1: though even winter refused to settle near him. Brumble stomped forward.
Speaker 1: You there, return what you stole. The frost Thief jerked up, startled.
Speaker 1: The winter star pulsed faintly in his arms, Struggling like
Speaker 1: a trapped glimmer. The frost Thief clutched it tighter. Leave me.
Speaker 1: I deserve warmth too. The star should be mine. Brumble
Speaker 1: tilted his head. Warmth. But that star doesn't give warmth.
Speaker 1: It gives kindness, the thief snarled. And kindness is warm
Speaker 1: of the heart. I want it for myself. Brumble stepped closer.
Speaker 1: But stealing won't warm your heart, he said gently, It
Speaker 1: will only make winter colder for everyone, including you. The
Speaker 1: thief trembled, his voice cracked. No one has ever shared
Speaker 1: kindness with me, not once. Why should anyone else have it?
Speaker 1: Brumble softened, Because kindness grows when shared, but taking it
Speaker 1: for yourself only makes your world smaller. The thief's grip
Speaker 1: loosened slightly. Brumble held out his branch hand. Let me
Speaker 1: help you. Let's bring the stear are back together, and
Speaker 1: afterward I'll show you warmth of another kind belonging. The
Speaker 1: frost thief stared at Brumble's hand. His icy cloak fluttered uncertainly. Slowly,
Speaker 1: very slowly, He reached out and placed the Winter Star
Speaker 1: into brumble snowy arms. As soon as Brumble touched it,
Speaker 1: the star brightened, flooding the cave with shimmering light. The
Speaker 1: frost thief flinched, covering his eyes. It's too bright, only
Speaker 1: because you've forgotten what kindness looks like, Brumble said gently.
Speaker 1: Come with me, see how warm winter can be when
Speaker 1: you're part of it. Together. They left the cave, the
Speaker 1: star pulsing warmly between them. As they reached the gorgeous entrance,
Speaker 1: the snow sprite swooped in, fully revived, circling them excitedly.
Speaker 1: We did it, Brumble cried, well, mostly me, but you
Speaker 1: helped too. The frost thief hunched shyly. Is the village
Speaker 1: safe It will be, Brumble said, And they'll welcome you
Speaker 1: if you let them snow swirled around them as the
Speaker 1: Winter Star rose high into the dawn sky, returning to
Speaker 1: its rightful place. Immediately, the wind softened, the cold brighten,
Speaker 1: and a gentle warmth spread across the land, not the
Speaker 1: warmth of fire, but of balance. Winter felt right again. Brumble,
Speaker 1: the Sprite, and even the frost Thief returned to the meadow,
Speaker 1: and there, to Brumble's surprise, stood Elsie and Toby, wide
Speaker 1: eyed with astonishment, Brumble, they shouted together. You're alive, Elsie cried,
Speaker 1: And you went on a quest, Toby added. Brumble beamed. Indeed,
Speaker 1: I saved winter, brought back the star, and made a
Speaker 1: new friend. The frost Thief hesitated, but Elsie smiled kindly
Speaker 1: at him. You can join us, she said, softly. We
Speaker 1: have room for one more. At the winter festival. For
Speaker 1: the first time in his life, the frost Thief felt warmth,
Speaker 1: not the physical kind, but the sort that spreads quietly
Speaker 1: from being welcomed. Brumble felt his snowy chest glow proudly.
Speaker 1: Later that day, the village gathered for Christmas festivities. Brumble
Speaker 1: was the star of the celebration. Children danced around him,
Speaker 1: adults laughed, and the frost Thief no longer a thief
Speaker 1: helped hang lanterns, discovering that kindness shared felt far better
Speaker 1: than anything stolen. As for Brumble, he stood tall in
Speaker 1: the meadow, smiling brightly. He had been built with care,
Speaker 1: woken by magic, and filled with purpose. And whenever the
Speaker 1: winter winds whispered through Hearthmore after that night, villagers swore
Speaker 1: they could hear a rumbling voice, joyfully declaring Brumble, the
Speaker 1: brave Brumble, the bold Brumble, the ever ready for another quest.
Speaker 1: And if the wind laughed back, well, maybe it was
Speaker 1: because the magic of winter loves a good adventure. If
Speaker 1: you were to walk to the very end of Winterbury
Speaker 1: Lane in the little village of Hearthmore, you'd find a
Speaker 1: meadow where the snow always seemed to fall a little softer,
Speaker 1: sparkle a little brighter, and stay a little longer than
Speaker 1: anywhere else. The villagers said the meadow was enchanted, though
Speaker 1: no one could quite agree on how or why. Children
Speaker 1: claimed it was because the stars touched the ground there.
Speaker 1: Adult said it was just the wind patterns. But the truth,
Speaker 1: though very few ever knew, it, was that the meadow
Speaker 1: had been chosen long ago as a resting place for
Speaker 1: winter's gentle magic. On the first snowy weekend of December,
Speaker 1: the children of Hearthmore gathered in the meadow to build
Speaker 1: snow men. Some made tall ones, some made tiny ones,
Speaker 1: and some made lopsided creations that leaned dangerously like sleepy giants.
Speaker 1: But Elsie Wren and her best friend Toby Finch were
Speaker 1: determined to build the perfect snowman. They worked all afternoon,
Speaker 1: rolling huge snowballs until their mittens soaked through and their
Speaker 1: cheeks were pink and glowing. Elsie crafted the bottom sphere
Speaker 1: so smooth it looked like it had been polished. Toby
Speaker 1: shaped the middle with comic seriousness, patting it firmly until
Speaker 1: it held together. They lifted the head round, bright and
Speaker 1: beautifully white. Now he needs a name, Elsie declared. Toby
Speaker 1: studied their creation. It had pebble eyes that sparkled unusually,
Speaker 1: a carrot nose slightly bent to the left, and a
Speaker 1: smile made of coal that curved up mischievously. He looks
Speaker 1: like a brumble, Toby said. At last, Elsie burst into laughter. Brumble,
Speaker 1: that's not even a name. It is, now, Toby said, proudly.
Speaker 1: So Brumble he became. They gave him a scarf that
Speaker 1: Elsie had knitted herself, with only seven holes this time,
Speaker 1: a wooly hat Toby's granny had made, and two branches
Speaker 1: for arms. Crooked but expressive, Brumble looked like he might
Speaker 1: wave at any moment. As the sun dipped low and
Speaker 1: the sky turned lavender, Elsie gazed at Brumble thoughtfully, if
Speaker 1: magic ever came to life, she whispered, I'd wanted to
Speaker 1: choose him. Toby grinned. Imagine Brumble coming alive and going
Speaker 1: on adventures. He'd be the bravest snow man ever. They laughed,
Speaker 1: gathered their things, and ran home before their parents started
Speaker 1: shouting about frozen toes. The meadow grew quiet until the
Speaker 1: moon rose. It was a full moon, round as a lantern,
Speaker 1: bright as a polished coin. As its silvery light touched Brumble,
Speaker 1: something stirred in the air, soft as a breath and
Speaker 1: tingling like the first spark of a firework. A single
Speaker 1: snowflake drifted from the sky, glowing faintly, then another and another.
Speaker 1: The glowing flakes gathered around Brumble's head, swirling gently. His
Speaker 1: pebble eyes shimmered, his cold smile twitched, then with a
Speaker 1: soft wump. Brumble straightened. He blinked twice, and then Brumble
Speaker 1: the Snowman came to life. Ho, he exclaimed in a
Speaker 1: deep rumbling voice, surprised at his own sound. Ho Ho, Well, now,
Speaker 1: what's this? Two legs, two arms, and a head full
Speaker 1: of snow and I'm awake. Oh, what a fine feeling.
Speaker 1: He looked down at himself, admiring his branch arms, swinging
Speaker 1: them as though testing them out. He lifted each foot
Speaker 1: and marveled at the crunch of snow beneath him. I've
Speaker 1: been built beautifully, Brumble declared. Whoever made me gave their
Speaker 1: whole hearts to the task, and something tells me I've
Speaker 1: not woken without a reason. For snow men rarely wake
Speaker 1: unless there's need. And indeed the meadow shimmered with magic,
Speaker 1: as if urging him onward. Suddenly, something small and bright
Speaker 1: zipped past him, so fast that Brumble toppled backward into
Speaker 1: a soft mound of snow. He scrambled upright, brushing himself off.
Speaker 1: What was that? Another flash zipped by, this time circling
Speaker 1: him once before darting into the woods. It sparkled like
Speaker 1: a piece of starlight with wings A snow sprite. Brumble gasped,
Speaker 1: I thought they were only tails. Snow Sprites only appeared
Speaker 1: when winter was out of balance, when some magic had
Speaker 1: gone missing or been misplaced, and if one was flying frantically,
Speaker 1: something must indeed be wrong. Brumble placed his hands on
Speaker 1: his snowy hips. Well, then, seems I've awakened just in
Speaker 1: time for a quest. He marched toward the trees with
Speaker 1: enormous enthusiasm. Brumble, the brave, Brumble, the bold, Brumble, the
Speaker 1: possibly lost. He paused, which way did the sprite go?
Speaker 1: A sparkle flickered between the branches, guiding him. Brumble dashed
Speaker 1: into the woods, ducking under branches, skidding over roots, and
Speaker 1: occasionally tripping, which was expected considering he had never walked before.
Speaker 1: He found the snow sprite shivering on a frozen log,
Speaker 1: flickering weakly. Oh dear, Brumble cried, what's happened to you,
Speaker 1: little spark The sprite buzzed a faint chiming sound, like
Speaker 1: wind passing through icicles. Snowmen, being winterborne, could understand their language.
Speaker 1: Your saying the winter star is missing, Brumble translated, the
Speaker 1: one that keeps the ballots of winter kindness the star
Speaker 1: that helps warmth and cold live together peacefully. The sprite
Speaker 1: flickered dimly. Oh, that is a pickle, Brumble muttered. Without it,
Speaker 1: the village might freeze too cold or thaw too quickly.
Speaker 1: Snow might fall too heavy or not at all. Winter
Speaker 1: must be balanced, or Christmas magic falters. The sprite chimed again.
Speaker 1: Someone stole it. Brumble gasped, who would steal a Winter Star?
Speaker 1: The sprite shivered and conjured a tiny icy image in
Speaker 1: the air, a silhouette of a hunched figure wearing a
Speaker 1: ragged cloak slipping into the mountain. The frost thief. Brumble whispered,
Speaker 1: he steals winter magic out of envy, and he's run
Speaker 1: off to the crystal gorge. The sprite buzzed urgently. I'll go,
Speaker 1: Brumble said, bravely, You stay and rest. I Brumble of Hearthmore,
Speaker 1: will retrieve the Winter Star. He puffed out his snowy
Speaker 1: chest and set off toward the mountains. His journey was
Speaker 1: not graceful. On his way, he sank into deep drifts,
Speaker 1: lost his hat twice to the wind, tripped over a
Speaker 1: fox who was not amused, and once slid down a
Speaker 1: hill so fast he screamed happily all the way to
Speaker 1: the bottom. But each time he fell he stood up again. Snowfalls,
Speaker 1: Brumble said, and so do I, but both get up again.
Speaker 1: By dawn he reached the foot of the Crystal Gorge,
Speaker 1: an enormous canyon filled with towering ice pillars that chimed
Speaker 1: like enormous wind chimes in the breeze. The sound was
Speaker 1: beautiful but eerie, echoing across the mountains. Hoho, Brumble whispered,
Speaker 1: No wonder thieves hide here. He stepped inside. The gorge
Speaker 1: glittered brilliantly, refracting light into rainbow patterns. Snow hissed under
Speaker 1: his feet. Then through the icy glow, Brumble spotted a
Speaker 1: cave where shadows twisted unnaturally. Inside, hunched over a glowing
Speaker 1: object wrapped in cloth, was the frost Thief. He was thin,
Speaker 1: cold looking, with a cloak made of icicles and a
Speaker 1: hood that hid most of his face. Snow swirled around
Speaker 1: him in chaotic bursts, as though even winter refused to
Speaker 1: settle near him. Brumble stomped forward, You there, return what
Speaker 1: you stole. The frost Thief jerked up, startled. The winter
Speaker 1: star pulsed faintly in his arms struggling like a trapped glimmer.
Speaker 1: The frost thief clutched it tighter. Leave me. I deserve
Speaker 1: warmth too. The star should be mine. Brumble tilted his head. Warmth,
Speaker 1: But that star doesn't give warmth. It gives kindness, the
Speaker 1: thief snarled, and kindness is warmth of the heart. I
Speaker 1: want it for myself. Brumble stepped closer. But stealing won't
Speaker 1: warm your heart, he said gently, It will only make
Speaker 1: winter colder for everyone, including you. The thief trembled, his
Speaker 1: voice cracked. No one has ever shared kindness with me,
Speaker 1: not once. Why should anyone else have it? Brumble softened,
Speaker 1: because kindness grows when shared, but taking it for yourself
Speaker 1: only makes your world smaller. The thief's grip loosened slightly.
Speaker 1: Brumble held out his branch hand. Let me help you.
Speaker 1: Let's bring the star back together, and afterward I'll show
Speaker 1: you warmth of another kind belonging. The frost thief stared
Speaker 1: at Brumble's hand. His icy cloak fluttered uncertainly. Slowly, very slowly,
Speaker 1: he reached out and placed the Winter Star into brumble
Speaker 1: snowy arms. As soon as Bumble touched it, the star brightened,
Speaker 1: flooding the cave with shimmering light. The frost Thief flinched,
Speaker 1: covering his eyes. It's too bright, only because you've forgotten
Speaker 1: what kindness looks like, Brumble said. Gently. Come with me,
Speaker 1: see how warm winter can be when you're part of it. Together,
Speaker 1: they left the cave, the star pulsing warmly between them.
Speaker 1: As they reached the gorgeous entrance, the snow Sprite swooped in,
Speaker 1: fully revived, circling them excitedly. We did it, Brumble cried, well,
Speaker 1: mostly me, but you helped too. The frost Thief hunched shyly.
Speaker 1: Is the village safe It will be, Brumble said, And
Speaker 1: they'll welcome you if you let them. Snow swirled around
Speaker 1: them as the winter Star rose high into the dawn sky,
Speaker 1: returning to its rightful place. Immediately, the wind softened, the
Speaker 1: cold brightened, and a gentle warmth spread across the land,
Speaker 1: not the warmth of fire, but of balance. Winter felt
Speaker 1: right again. Brumble, the Sprite, and even the frost Thief
Speaker 1: returned to the meadow, and there, to Brumble's surprise, stood
Speaker 1: Elsie and Toby, wide eyed with astonishment. Brumble, they shouted, together,
Speaker 1: you're alive, Elsie cried, and you went on a quest,
Speaker 1: Toby added. Brumble beamed. Indeed, I saved winter, brought back
Speaker 1: the star, and made a new friend. The frost Thief hesitated,
Speaker 1: but Elsie smiled kindly at him. You can join us,
Speaker 1: she said, softly. We have room for one more. At
Speaker 1: the winter festival. For the first time in his life,
Speaker 1: the frost Thief felt warmth, not the physical kind, but
Speaker 1: the sort that spreads quietly from being welcomed. Brumble felt
Speaker 1: his snowy chest glow proudly. Later that day, the village
Speaker 1: gathered for Christmas festivity. Brumble was the star of the celebration.
Speaker 1: Children danced around him, adults laughed, and the frost Thief,
Speaker 1: no longer a thief, helped hang lanterns, discovering that kindness
Speaker 1: shared felt far better than anything stolen. As for Brumble,
Speaker 1: he stood tall in the meadow, smiling brightly. He had
Speaker 1: been built with care, woken by magic, and filled with purpose.
Speaker 1: And whenever the winter winds whispered through hearthmore after that night,
Speaker 1: villagers swore they could hear a rumbling voice, joyfully declaring Brumble,
Speaker 1: the brave Brumbled, the bold Brumble, the ever ready for
Speaker 1: another quest, And if the wind laughed back, well, maybe
Speaker 1: it was because the magic of winter loves a good adventure.
Speaker 1: If you were to walk to the very end of
Speaker 1: Winterbury Lane in the little village of Hearthmore, you'd find
Speaker 1: a meadow where the snow always seemed to fall a
Speaker 1: little softer, sparkle a little brighter, and stay a little
Speaker 1: longer than anywhere else. The villagers said the meadow was enchanted,
Speaker 1: though no one could quite agree on how or why.
Speaker 1: Children claimed it was because the stars touched the ground there,
Speaker 1: adult said it just the wind patterns. But the truth,
Speaker 1: though very few ever knew it, was that the meadow
Speaker 1: had been chosen long ago as a resting place for
Speaker 1: Winter's gentle magic. On the first snowy weekend of December,
Speaker 1: the children of Hearthmore gathered in the meadow to build snowmen.
Speaker 1: Some made tall ones, some made tiny ones, and some
Speaker 1: made lopsided creations that leaned dangerously like sleepy giants. But
Speaker 1: Elsie Wren and her best friend Toby Finch were determined
Speaker 1: to build the perfect snowman. They worked all afternoon, rolling
Speaker 1: huge snowballs until their mittens soaked through and their cheeks
Speaker 1: were pink and glowing. Elsie craft did the bottom sphere
Speaker 1: so smooth it looked like it had been polished. Toby
Speaker 1: shaped the middle with comic seriousness, patting it firmly until
Speaker 1: it held together. They lifted the head round, bright and
Speaker 1: beautifully white. Now he needs a name, Elsie declared. Toby
Speaker 1: studied their creation. It had pebble eyes that sparkled unusually,
Speaker 1: a carrot nose slightly bent to the left, and a
Speaker 1: smile made of coal that curved up mischievously. He looks
Speaker 1: like a Brumble, Toby said. At last, Elsie burst into laughter. Brumble,
Speaker 1: that's not even a name. It is now, Toby said, proudly.
Speaker 1: So Brumble he became. They gave him a scarf that
Speaker 1: Elsie had knitted herself, with only seven holes this time,
Speaker 1: a wooly hat Toby's granny had made, and two branches
Speaker 1: for arms. Crooked but expressive, Brumble looked like he might
Speaker 1: wave at any moment. As the sun dipped low and
Speaker 1: the sky turned lavender, Elsie gazed at Brumble thoughtfully. If
Speaker 1: magic ever came to life, she whispered, I'd want it
Speaker 1: to choose him. Toby grinned, imagine Brumble coming alive and
Speaker 1: going on adventures. He'd be the bravest snowman ever. They laughed,
Speaker 1: gathered their things, and ran home before their parents started
Speaker 1: shouting about frozen toes. The meadow grew quiet until the
Speaker 1: moon rose. It was a full moon, round as a lantern,
Speaker 1: bright as a polished coin. As its silvery light touched Brumble,
Speaker 1: something stirred in the air, soft as a breath and
Speaker 1: tingling like the first spark of a firework. A single
Speaker 1: snowflake drifted from the sky, glowing faintly, then another and another.
Speaker 1: The glowing flakes gathered around Brumble's head, swirling gently. His
Speaker 1: pebble eyes shimmered, his cold smile twitched, then with a
Speaker 1: soft wump, Brumble straightened. He blinked twice, and then Brumble
Speaker 1: the Snowman came to life. Ho, he exclaimed in a
Speaker 1: deep rumbling voice, surprised at his own sound. Ho, Ho, Well, now,
Speaker 1: what's this? Two legs, two arms, and a head full
Speaker 1: of snow and I'm awake. Oh what a fine feeling.
Speaker 1: He looked down at himself, admiring his branch arms, swinging
Speaker 1: them as though testing them out. He lifted each foot
Speaker 1: and marveled at the crunch of snow beneath him. I've
Speaker 1: been built beautifully, Brumble declared. Whoever made me gave their
Speaker 1: whole hearts to the task, And something tells me I've
Speaker 1: not woken without a reason, for snow men rarely wake
Speaker 1: unless there's need. And indeed the meadow shimmered with magic,
Speaker 1: as if urging him onward. Suddenly, something small and bright
Speaker 1: zipped past him, so fast that Brumble toppled backward into
Speaker 1: a soft mound of snow. He scrambled upright, brushing himself off.
Speaker 1: What was that? Another flash zipped by, this time circling
Speaker 1: him once before darting into the woods. It sparkled, like
Speaker 1: a piece of starlight with wings, a snow sprite. Brumble gasped,
Speaker 1: I thought they were only tails. Snow Sprites only appeared
Speaker 1: when winter was out of balance, when some magic had
Speaker 1: gone missing or been misplaced, and if one was flying frantically,
Speaker 1: something must indeed be wrong. Brumble placed his hands on
Speaker 1: his snowy hips. Well, then, seems I've awakened just in
Speaker 1: time for a quest. He marched toward the trees with
Speaker 1: enormous enthusiasm. Brumble, the Brave Brumble the bold Brumble the
Speaker 1: possibly lost. He paused, which way did the sprite go?
Speaker 1: A sparkle flickered between the branches, guiding him. Brumble dashed
Speaker 1: into the woods, ducking under branches, skidding over roots, and
Speaker 1: occasionally tripping, which was expected considering he had never walked before.
Speaker 1: He found the snow sprite shivering on a frozen log,
Speaker 1: flickering weak. Oh dear, Brumble cried, what's happened to you,
Speaker 1: little spark The sprite buzzed, a faint chiming sound, like
Speaker 1: wind passing through icicles. Snow men, being winterborne, could understand
Speaker 1: their language. You're saying the winter star is missing, Brumble translated,
Speaker 1: the one that keeps the balance of winter kindness, the
Speaker 1: star that helps warmth and cold live together peacefully. The
Speaker 1: sprite flickered dimly. Oh, that is a pickle, Brumble muttered.
Speaker 1: Without it, the village might freeze too cold or thaw
Speaker 1: too quickly. Snow might fall too heavy or not at all.
Speaker 1: Winter must be bad balanced, or Christmas magic falters. The
Speaker 1: sprite chimed again. Someone stole it. Brumble gasped, who would
Speaker 1: steal a winter star? The sprite shivered and conjured a
Speaker 1: tiny icy image in the air, a silhouette of a
Speaker 1: hunched figure wearing a ragged cloak slipping into the mountains.
Speaker 1: The frost thief Brumble whispered, he steals winter magic out
Speaker 1: of envy, and he's run off to the Crystal Gorge.
Speaker 1: The sprite buzzed urgently. I'll go, Brumble said, bravely, you
Speaker 1: stay and rest. I Brumble of Hearthmore, will retrieve the
Speaker 1: winter Star. He puffed out his snowy chest and set
Speaker 1: off toward the mountains. His journey was not graceful. On
Speaker 1: his way, he sank into deep drifts, lost his hat
Speaker 1: twice to the wind, tripped over a fox who was
Speaker 1: not amused, and once slid down a hill so fast
Speaker 1: he screamed happily all the way to the bottom. But
Speaker 1: each time he fell he stood up again. Snowfalls, Brumble said,
Speaker 1: and so do I, but both get up again. By
Speaker 1: dawn he reached the foot of the Crystal Gorge, an
Speaker 1: enormous canyon filled with towering ice pillars that child aimed
Speaker 1: like enormous wind chimes in the breeze. The sound was
Speaker 1: beautiful but eerie, echoing across the mountains. Hoho, Brumble whispered,
Speaker 1: no wonder thieves hide here. He stepped inside. The gorge
Speaker 1: glittered brilliantly, refracting light into rainbow patterns. Snow hissed under
Speaker 1: his feet. Then through the icy glow, Brumble spotted a
Speaker 1: cave where shadows twisted unnaturally. Inside, hunched over a glowing
Speaker 1: object wrapped in cloth, was the frost Thief. He was thin,
Speaker 1: cold looking, with a cloak made of icicles and a
Speaker 1: hood that hid most of his face. Snow swirled around
Speaker 1: him in chaotic bursts, as though even winter refused to
Speaker 1: settle near him. Brumble stomped forward. You there, return what
Speaker 1: you stole. The frost thief jerked up, startled. The winter
Speaker 1: star pulsed faintly in his arms, Struggling like a trapped glimmer.
Speaker 1: The frost thief clutched it tighter. Leave me. I deserve
Speaker 1: warmth too. The star should be mine. Brumble tilted his head. Warmth.
Speaker 1: But that star doesn't give warmth. It gives kindness, the
Speaker 1: thief snarled. And kindness is warmth of the heart. I
Speaker 1: want it for myself. Brumble stepped closer. But stealing won't
Speaker 1: warm your heart, he said gently, It will only make
Speaker 1: winter colder. For everyone, including you. The thief trembled, his
Speaker 1: voice cracked. No one has ever shared kindness with me,
Speaker 1: not once. Why should anyone else have it? Brumble softened,
Speaker 1: because kindness grows when shared, but taking it for yourself
Speaker 1: only makes your world smaller. The thief's grip loosened slightly.
Speaker 1: Brumble held out his branch hand. Let me help you.
Speaker 1: Let's bring the star back together, and after word, I'll
Speaker 1: show you warmth of another kind belonging. The frost thief
Speaker 1: stared at Brumble's hand. His icy cloak fluttered uncertainly, slowly,
Speaker 1: very slowly. He reached out and placed the Winter Star
Speaker 1: into brumble snowy arms. As soon as Brumble touched it,
Speaker 1: the star brightened, flooding the cave with shimmering light. The
Speaker 1: frost Thief flinched, covering his eyes. It's too bright, only
Speaker 1: because you've forgotten what kindness looks like, Brumble said, gently.
Speaker 1: Come with me, see how warm winter can be when
Speaker 1: you're part of it. Together, they left the cave, the
Speaker 1: star are pulsing warmly between them. As they reached the
Speaker 1: gorgeous entrance, the snow sprite swooped in, fully revived, circling
Speaker 1: them excitedly. We did it, Brumble cried, well, mostly me,
Speaker 1: but you helped too. The frost Thief hunched shyly. Is
Speaker 1: the village safe It will be, Brumble said, And they'll
Speaker 1: welcome you if you let them. Snow swirled around them
Speaker 1: as the Winter Star rose high into the dawn sky,
Speaker 1: returning to its rightful place. Immediately, the wind softened, the
Speaker 1: cold brightened, and a gentle warmth bread across the land,
Speaker 1: not the warmth of fire, but of balance. Winter felt
Speaker 1: right again. Brumble, the Sprite, and even the frost Thief
Speaker 1: returned to the meadow, and there, to Brumble's surprise, stood
Speaker 1: Elsie and Toby, wide eyed with astonishment. Brumble, they shouted together.
Speaker 1: You're alive, Elsie cried. And you went on a quest,
Speaker 1: Toby added. Brumble beamed. Indeed, I saved winter, brought back
Speaker 1: the star, and made a new friend. The frost Thief hesitated,
Speaker 1: but Elsie smiled kindly at him. You can join us,
Speaker 1: she said, softly. We have room for one more at
Speaker 1: the Winter Festival. For the first time in his life,
Speaker 1: the frost Thief felt warmth, not the physical kind, but
Speaker 1: the sort that spreads quietly from being welcomed. Brumble felt
Speaker 1: his snowy chest glow proudly. Later that day, the village
Speaker 1: gathered for Christmas festivities. Brumble was the star of the celebration.
Speaker 1: Children danced around him, adults laughed, and the frost thief,
Speaker 1: no longer a thief, helped hang lanterns, discovering that kindness
Speaker 1: shared felt far better than anything stolen. As for Brumble,
Speaker 1: he stood tall in the meadow, smiling brightly. He had
Speaker 1: been built with care, woken by magic, and filled with purpose.
Speaker 1: And whenever the winter winds whispered through hearthmore after that night,
Speaker 1: villagers swore they could hear a rumbling voice, joyfully declaring Brumble,
Speaker 1: the brave Brumble, the bold Brumble, the ever ready for
Speaker 1: another quest. And if the wind laughed back, well, maybe
Speaker 1: it was because the magic of winter loves a good adventure.
Speaker 1: Time Supper my day, st said b