Speaker 1: Max, take a slow breath. Can you feel that the
air in the attic feels different tonight? It isn't just
the quiet of the evening. It's something warmer, like a
kitchen where something delicious has been simmering all afternoon.
Speaker 2: I can feel it loomy.
Speaker 1: It smells toasty, like bread and herbs. And look at
the jar. It's glowing a really deep orange color, like
the inside of a pumpkin or maybe soup. It is
a very cozy color, isn't it. The story light is
awake tonight, Max, and it has brought us a word
that feels just as warm as that glow. The word
is sharing. Now we must only think it, never say
it to you loud, so we don't wake the little
wake sprites. Just hold the word sharing in your mind
like you might hold a warm bowl between your hands. Okay,
I'm thinking it sharing.
Speaker 2: It feels nice, like sitting around a fire.
Speaker 1: That's exactly how it should feel. Look, the lid is lifting.
The story light is floating up, spiraling out like steam
from a kettle. It is drifting right towards gramps.
Speaker 3: Hmm.
Speaker 4: I see it a beautiful, rich amber light tonight. It's
settling right into my beard. Yes there, it is warming
me up already. And I know this story. It's an
old favorite one that has been told around many fires
and kitchen tables. It's the story of the soup made
of stones.
Speaker 2: Soup from a stone that doesn't sound very tasty, Grumps, you.
Speaker 4: Might be surprised, Max. Sometimes the best things come from
the most unexpected places. Settle in now, Let the bed
hold you, and let the pillow support your head. You
don't need to do anything but listen.
Speaker 2: I'm ready.
Speaker 4: Once, a long time ago, there was a traveler. He
had walked many miles across hills that rolled like green blankets,
and through forests that whispered in the wind. His boots
were dusty and his cloak was patched, but his eyes
were bright and kind. He carried nothing but a small,
empty cooking pot on his back and a simple wooden
spoon in his belt. One evening, as the sun began
to tuck itself behind the mountains, painting the sky in
shades of violet and rose, the traveler arrived at a
small village. Now this village was a tidy place. The
houses were neat, the fences were painted, and the chimneys
puffed straight lines of smoke. But there was something strange
about it.
Speaker 1: It felt closed, didn't it.
Speaker 4: It did. As the traveler walked down the main street,
he smiled and waved, but nobody waved back. The curtains twitched,
and the shutters clicked shut. Click clack, click plack. The
doors were bolted tight. You see, the people in this
village were worried. They were worried they didn't have enough.
They were worried about winter, about tomorrow, about keeping what
was theirs. So they kept everything they had hidden away
in their cellars and cupboards, and they didn't share a crumb.
The traveler's tummy gave a little rumble. He was hungry,
and he had hoped for a warm meal and a
place to rest. He knocked on the first door. Good evening,
he called out, cheerfully, I am a traveler who has
walked a long way. Could you spare a small bite
to eat? A voice from behind the door shouted, we
have nothing. The cupboard is bare. Go away. The traveler
knocked on the next door. Hello, might you have a
crust of bread for a weary walker? No bread here,
came the reply, We barely have enough for ourselves.
Speaker 2: That's not very friendly.
Speaker 4: It wasn't max, But the traveler didn't get angry. He
didn't stomp his feet or shout. He simply smiled a secret,
little smile. He walked to the very center of the
village square, where there was an old stone well. He
took his heavy iron pot off his back and set
it down on the ground. Then he filled it with clear,
cold water from the well. By now a few villagers
were peeking out through the cracks in their shutters. They
were curious what was this stranger doing. The traveler gathered
some fallen branches and twigs, built a small fire under
the pot, and waited for the water to boil. Bubble, bubble, bubble. Then,
with a great flourish, he reached into his pocket and
pulled out a stone. It wasn't a diamond or a ruby.
It was just a smooth, gray, ordinary looking stone, round
as an egg. He held it up to the fading light,
admired it, and then plopped dropped it gently into the
bubbling water. He sniffed the steam rising from the pot
and sighed loudly. Ah, he said to himself, but loud
enough for the hidden ears to hear. Nothing quite like
a delicious stone soup. It is fit for a king.
Speaker 1: Curiosity is a powerful thing. It opens doors that politeness cannot.
Speaker 4: Indeed, it is loomy. Slowly the villagers began to step
out of their houses, first a little girl, then the baker,
then the farmer. They gathered around the fire, keeping their distance,
watching the water bubble around the stone. Soup from a stone,
asked the farmer, scratching his chin. I've never heard of
such a thing. Oh, it is wonderful, said the traveler,
stirring the water with his wooden spoon. He took a
tiny sip. Hmm, delicious, But you know what, he paused
and looked thoughtful. It would be even better if it
had just a little bit of carrot. Stone soup with
carrot is truly special. The farm shifted on his feet.
He thought about his cellar, where he had sacks and
sacks of carrots hidden away. Well, said the farmer slowly,
I think I might have one small carrot, just one.
He hurried home and came back with a bunch of
bright orange carrots. The traveler chopped them up and dropped
them into the pot. Splash. The smell of cooking carrots
began to drift through the square. It was a sweet,
earthy smell, ah, said the traveler, much better. But stone
soup with carrots is good. Yet, stone soup with carrots
and onions, that is a meal to remember. The baker
stepped forward. I think I saw an onion in my pantry,
he mumbled, just a small one. He ran off and
returned with a basket of yellow onions. In they went.
Now the soup smelled savory and rich. Excellent, said the traveler.
But imagine if we had some potatoes to give it body,
and perhaps a handful of barley, and maybe a pinch
of salt. One by one, the villagers remembered things they
had forgotten. The butcher brought a bone for flavor. The
milkmaid brought a splash of cream. The mare brought a
handful of herbs, parsley, and thyme. With every ingredient that
was shared, the soup grew thicker, richer, and more fragrant.
The smell filled the entire square, chasing away the worry.
The pot bubbled cheerfully, a deep happy sound. Bloop bloop bloop. Finally,
the traveler announced it is ready. But there was too
much soup for one man, We cannot waste such a masterpiece,
he said, bring your bowls. The villagers rushed to fetch bowls, cups,
and spoons. The traveler ladled out the steaming golden soup
for every one. They sat together in the square under
the rising moon. They ate the soup, and they laughed.
They talked to neighbors they hadn't spoken to in weeks.
They told stories. The soup warmed their tummies, but the
shering warmed their hearts even more. They realized that by
giving a little, they all had a feast. When the
pot was finally empty, and every one was full and sleepy,
the traveler fished out the stone. He dried it off
and put it back in his pocket. The villagers watched
him with wide eyes. Is it a magic stone, the
little girl asked. The traveler winked perhaps, he said softly.
But the magic only works when every one adds a
little something to the pot.
Speaker 1: The story has finished giving all it can for now,
do you see Max? The amber light in Gramp's beard
is changing. It is softening, turning into a gentle rose gold.
It's like the color of the embers under the soup pot, warm.
Speaker 4: And pink, That means we are ready to step inside
the story, just for a moment. The feast is over
and the village is quiet. Let's go and see what
the traveler is doing before he rests.
Speaker 1: Close your eyes, and when you open them, we will
be in the village square.
Speaker 4: Here we are. The fire has burned down to glowing coals.
The big iron pot is sitting by the well, clean
and empty. The air is cool, but the stones of
the square are still warm from the day.
Speaker 2: It's very peaceful.
Speaker 1: There's the traveler. He's packing his bag. He looks ready
to leave, even though it's nighttime. He is a traveler,
after all. He moves with the wind. Let's speak to
him gently. He seems to be thinking about something important.
Speaker 4: Hello traveler, good evening, friend. That was a fine meal
you helped bring together. Ah, hello there.
Speaker 5: Yes, it was a fine meal, indeed the finest I've
had in money. But it wasn't my doing. Really, it
was the village. They just needed a reason to open
their doors.
Speaker 2: But you used the stone, the magic stone.
Speaker 5: The stone, Yes, I was just looking at it. Here
it is in my hand. It's heavy, solid, I've carried
it for a long time. It's been in many soups
in many towns.
Speaker 1: It seems to be a very special stone. If it
can bring people together.
Speaker 4: Like that, it is special.
Speaker 5: But I'm wondering. I have a long walk ahead of
me tomorrow. The mountains are steep, and this village they
seem to have remembered how to be kind. But memories
can fade like mist in the morn.
Speaker 2: Are you worried they'll stop sharing when you leave?
Speaker 5: I am a little It's easy to share when the
pot is bubbling and everyone is watching. It's harder when
the square is empty. I'm thinking about what to do
with this stone. If I keep it, I can make
soup in the next town. But if I leave it.
Speaker 4: If you leave it, you would be sharing the secret,
wouldn't you exactly? I would be sharing the magic, and
that is the hardest thing to share, to give away
the thing that makes you special.
Speaker 1: Maybe maybe if you leave it, they can make soup.
Whenever they get worried again, they can look at the
stone and remember the carrot and the onion and the laughing.
Speaker 5: You have a wise heart, young one. You're right. If
I take it, it's just a stone in my pocket.
If I leave it here, it's a promise, a promise
that they can do it themselves.
Speaker 4: Sharing isn't just about the food, is it. It's about
sharing the ability to make the feast.
Speaker 5: Yes, it is about trusting that there will be another
stone for me somewhere down the road. The world is
full of stones, after all, but this village needs this stone.
Speaker 4: Look at what he is doing, Mex.
Speaker 2: He's walking over to the well. He's placing the stone
right on the wall where everyone can see it.
Speaker 3: There.
Speaker 5: It sits well there. Tomorrow morning, the baker will come
for water and he will see it, and maybe he'll
remember that he has an extra loaf of bread, and
the farmer will see it and remember his carrots. I
don't need to carry it anymore.
Speaker 4: I can lighter now.
Speaker 1: How does it feel, traveler, to leave it behind?
Speaker 4: It feels light.
Speaker 5: It feels like taking off a heavy coat. I thought
I was losing a tool, but I think I've just
planted a seed. It's good to let go.
Speaker 4: I think we've found what we came for.
Speaker 1: Yes, the lesson has been felt. Do you see the
light in Gramp's beard now? It is cooling, turning from
rose gold to a soft, sleepy lavender blue. It's beautiful
like the sky just before it goes fully dark. It
is time to go to Nocturnia. The traveler has done
his work and the dream word needs to be released.
We don't need to carry sharing as a job anymore. Tonight,
we can just let it rest.
Speaker 4: The dream gate is opening, just a soft archway in
the air, rippling like water. There is no rush. We
can step through whenever we are ready.
Speaker 3: I'm ready.
Speaker 2: Welcome to.
Speaker 1: Nocturnia.
Speaker 2: Tonight.
Speaker 1: The dream world has shaped itself into a quiet, rolling meadow,
filled with tall, feathery grass that sways without any wind.
The light here is dim and blue, like moonlight on
a calm sea.
Speaker 4: Can you feel the ground beneath your feet? It is
springy and soft, like layers of thick quilts. Every step
is silent. There is no need to hurry here. The
air smells of cool water and sleeping flowers.
Speaker 3: I can see the dream tree.
Speaker 2: It's in the middle of the meadow.
Speaker 1: Its leaves are glowing, very faintly, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
And look, there is the traveler in Nocturnia. He doesn't
have his heavy boots or his dusty cloak. He is
moving very slowly, just drifting through the tall grass. He
isn't carrying a pot anymore.
Speaker 4: Watch him, Max. He is walking towards the dream tree.
He is holding something small in his hands. It is
the feeling of the stone, the feeling of sharing. He
doesn't need to explain it to the tree. He doesn't
need to make soup here.
Speaker 1: He is reaching up to a low branch. The branch
lowers itself to meet him very gently. It is welcoming him.
He's placing the feeling on the branch. It looks like
a little glowing leaf. Now he's letting go of it.
Speaker 4: See how his shoulders drop. He is sighing a long,
slow breath out. He knows the word is safe there.
He doesn't have to worry if the village will be okay.
He doesn't have to worry if he has enough. The
dream tree holds it all.
Speaker 1: The leaf settles on the branch. It glows bright for
a second, a soft lavender light, and then it dims,
matching the rhythm of the tree. Pulse and calm, pulse
and calm.
Speaker 4: The traveler is turning away now he is walking into
the deeper shadows of the meadow, towards a soft patch
of moss to rest. He has finished his journey and
we have finished hours.
Speaker 1: You are safe, Max, You are loved. The sharing is done,
the questions are done. Nothing is needed from you right now.
Speaker 4: Your legs are heavy, your arms are loose, your head
is supported by the pillow. Just like the stone resting
on the wall. You can just.
Speaker 1: The story light is leaving Gramps his beard. Now it
is a tiny speck of blue light floating back towards
the jar in the attic.
Speaker 2: We're back in the attic.
Speaker 3: The bed feels so nice.
Speaker 1: The story light slips into the jar. The lid closes
with a soft click. The glow fades, leaving just the quiet,
steady dark of the room. Everything is still. Good Night Max.
Good night, sleepy listener. That was a good one, Loomy.
Speaker 2: I think I'm just about asleep. Good night
Speaker 4: Must