Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome back to Sleepy Stories. I'm your host, Lucy,
and my friends and I will be reading you a
sleepy bedtime story every week to relax you and to
help you to drift off into a RESTful sleep. From
time to time, we will also read you a relaxing,
peaceful meditation that will take you somewhere beautiful and calming.
Once we have read the stories, we will then read
them a second time, but this time they will be
ready even slower. This will help you to relax even more.
Before we begin, I would like you to close your
eyes and breathe in and out nice and deeply. Take
a few seconds to inhale, and then hold your breath
for a few seconds more, and then release and breathe out.
Do this a few times if you need to. While
you listen to the music and you listen to my voice,
give yourself time to let your body relax and your
mind settle. It's important that we allow time for us
to feel safe, cozy, and completely at ease. And now
it's time for this week's story.
Speaker 2: The Rusty Key by the Magic Pond in a quiet
corner of the countryside, where the fields rolled gently like
sleeping hills. There wandered a small stray cat named Mallow,
who belonged to no one in particular and was quite
content about it. Mallow had soft gray fur, a slightly
crooked tail, and the thoughtful ex expression of a creature
who believed the world contained many interesting secrets, but saw
no reason to hurry while discovering them. Most days, she
traveled slowly along hedgerows and old stone walls, investigating insects,
warming herself on sunlit rocks, and occasionally accepting milk from
farmers who pretended they were not fond of stray cats.
At night, she preferred sleeping in peaceful places, a hollow tree,
an abandoned wheelbarrow. Once she spent an entire evening curled
inside an empty flower pot, which she considered extremely comfortable,
despite the mild confusion of the gardener. Mallow liked quiet
place's best, and there was no place quieter than the
old pond at the far end of Willowmere Field. The
pond had been there for so long that nobody remembered
exactly when it first appeared. Some said it had always
been there, Others believed it had wandered in from somewhere
else and decided to stay either way. The pond was calm, round,
and very good at reflecting the sky. Dragonflies skimmed across
its surface like tiny pilots, testing in visible runways. Frog
sat along the edges with the patient confidence of creatures
who had important thoughts about water, and every evening the
surface of the pond turned silver beneath them the rising moon.
Mallow visited the pond often, not because she was thirsty,
but because the pond felt interesting. Water sometimes moved in
curious patterns, reflections occasionally behaved slightly differently than expected, and
once Mallow was almost certain she saw a cloud blink.
On the evening, our story begins. Mallow wandered down the
narrow path through the tall grass toward the pond. As
the sun slipped slowly below the fields. The air smelled
of warm earth and drifting flowers. Crickets were beginning their
evening orchestra, with the careful enthusiasm of musicians warming up
before a concert. Mallow stepped lightly onto a flat stone
beside the water. She stretched one paw, then the other,
then curled her tail neatly around her paws. The pond
was perfectly still. The sky above it glowed softly with
pale pink clouds drifting toward the horizon. For several peaceful minutes,
nothing happened. Then the water made a small sound. It
was not a splash, not quite a ripple either, more
like the quiet sound of someone clearing their throat underwater.
Mallow lifted one ear of the pond trembled slightly. A
few small circles appeared in the center. They spread outward slowly.
Then something rose gently from the water. It was a key,
a small, old iron key. Its surface was brown with
rust and glimmered faintly in the evening light. As it
floated calmly toward the edge of the pond, Mallow blinked.
She had seen many curious things in her travels, but
keys rising politely out of ponds were relatively new. The
key drifted closer until it bumped softly against the stone
where she sat. Mallow leaned forward. She sniffed it cautiously.
It smelled faintly of water, old metal, and something else,
something very old, as if the key had once opened
a door that had been waiting a very long time.
Mallow tapped it gently with one paw. The key rolled slightly,
then the pond rippled again. The reflection of the sky
shimmered for a moment, the water did not reflect the
sky at all, and stared it showed something different, a
narrow stone path winding through tall lantern trees, a wooden
gate standing half open beyond it, the faint outline of
a small cottage with warm, glowing windows. Mallow stared down
into the water. Then the reflection returned to normal. The
sky was back, The clouds drifted peacefully, as if nothing
unusual had happened. Mallow looked at the rusty key again.
Hum she said softly, which was the sort of thing
she sometimes said when interesting mysteries appeared. She picked up
the key carefully in her mouth. It was surprisingly light.
The rust tasted slightly like rain. The pond made another
quiet ripple, this time the reflection and shifted again. The
lantern lit path appeared once more. The wooden gate creaked
gently in a wind that did not exist above the water.
The glowing cottage windows flickered like a friendly invitation. Mallow
tilted her head. The path in the reflections seemed to
move slightly whenever she held the key, as if the
key and the strange reflection were somehow connected. She lowered
the key back onto the stone, immediately, the reflection returned
to the ordinary evening sky. Mallow picked it up again.
The lantern path appeared once more. Well, she murmured around
the key. That seems clear enough. Mallow had never been
the sort of cat who ignored invitations from mysterious ponds.
She hopped down from the stone and padded slowly around
the edge of the water. The reflection moved with her.
The lantern path inside the pond curved gently through quiet,
glowing trees. The small wooden gate waited patiently, and beyond
it the cottage windows glowed warmly, like a place where
interesting things might be explained. Mallow paused beside a patch
of reeds. She studied the reflection carefully. The path seemed
to begin somewhere near the far side of the pond,
where the grass grew thickest, beneath an old leaning willow tree.
Mallow placed the rusty key carefully on the ground. For
a moment, the reflection vanished again. She picked it up
once more. The lantern path returned instantly. Yes, she said softly,
that will do. With the rusty key held gently between
her teeth, Mallow began walking around the pond toward the
leaning willow. The evening grew quieter as she moved through
the tall grass. Fireflies flickered slowly in the warm twilight air.
The lantern path inside the pond drifted beside her like
a quiet secret waiting to be followed, and somewhere beyond
the reflection of the water, the small cottage door creaked
open slightly, as though it had been waiting a very
long time for a wandering stray cat to arrive. With
the correct rusty key, Mallow walked slowly through the tall
grass toward the leaning willow tree. While the evening deepened.
Around the quiet pond, fireflies drifted lazily through the warm air,
like tiny lanterns practicing their glow before night officially began.
The rusty key rested gently between her teeth. Each step
she took caused the strange reflection in the pond to
move beside her, like a quiet map made of water
and moonlight. The lantern lit path inside the pond curved
patiently through glowing trees. The wooden gate waited half open,
and the small cottage beyond it looked warm and welcoming
in a way that suggested someone inside might be expecting company.
Mallow reached the willow tree its long branches hung low
over the water like sleepy green curtains. She stepped carefully
onto a patch of soft earth beside the trunk. The
pond was very still. Again, the reflection of the lantern
path hovered directly beneath her paws. Mallow looked at the
rusty key, then at the reflection, then back at the
key again. Well, she said, quietly, this seems important. She
lowered one paw toward the water. The surface trembled slightly,
the lantern path inside the reflection brightened. Mallow dipped her
paw into the pond. Instead of becoming wet, the water
shimmered softly, like cool glass touched by moonlight. The reflection
did not break. Instead, it opened. The lantern lip path
rose gently from the surface of the pond like a
quiet staircase made of glowing mist. Mallow blinked slowly. She
had traveled many unusual places in her but stepping into
a pond that behaved like a doorway was pleasantly new.
With the rusty key still held carefully in her mouth,
Mallow stepped forward. Her paw touched the glowing path. It
felt warm and solid. The pond water behind her closed
quietly like a curtain falling at the end of a
very peaceful play. For a moment, the world was softly,
silver and silent. Then the lantern trees appeared around her.
Mallow now stood on the narrow stone path she had
seen inside the reflection. Tall trees lined both sides of
the path. Small lanterns hung from their branches, swaying gently
in a breeze that smelled faintly of rain and old stories.
The wooden gate stood ahead. It creaked softly as Mallow approached.
Beyond the gate, the little cottage rested in a clearing,
surrounded by low, glowing flowers. The windows shone warmly. Smoke
drifted lazily from the chimney, like a quiet thought, rising
into the evening sky. Mallow padded forward and nudged the
gate with her nose. It swung open politely. Good evening,
said a calm voice. Mallow turned her head. Sitting on
a smooth stone. Beside the path was an old turtle
with a shell covered in delicate patterns that looked strangely
like tiny maps. The turtle adjusted a pair of very
round spectacles. You must be the one the pond has
been waiting for, said the turtle. Mallow placed the rusty
key on the path and sat down neatly beside it.
I found this, she said. The turtle nodded slowly, Yes,
he replied, it tends to appear when it's needed. Mallow
looked toward the cottage. What does it open, she asked.
The turtle smiled in the slow, thoughtful way turtles often do. Ah,
He said, that depends entirely on the cat holding it.
Mallow twitched one ear thoughtfully. That sounds complicated, she said,
not really, said the turtle, just personal. He gestured toward
the cottage door. Mallow stood and picked up the rusty
key again. She padded slowly across the clearing. The cottage
door waited quietly at the top of two wooden steps.
Beside the door hung a small iron lock. It was old,
older than the rusty key, perhaps. Mallow lifted the key
and carefully placed it into the lock. For a moment,
nothing happened. Then the lock turned with a soft click.
The cottage door opened inward. Warm golden light spilled across
the clearing. Mallows stepped inside. The room was cozy and peaceful.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with curious objects, lanterns, old maps,
small glass jars containing drifting lights that glowed like captured fireflies.
But what caught Mallow's attention most was the large wooden
bowl sitting on a table in the center of the room.
Inside the bowl floated dozens of tiny glowing shapes. Each
one shimmered softly, like a memory made of mood light.
Mallow leaned closer. Inside one glow, she saw a small
kitten sleeping safely beside a fireplace. Inside another, she saw
a long road beneath autumn trees, where a traveler walked
slowly home. Another glow held the image of a quiet
garden where someone sat peacefully reading beside a pond. The
turtle appeared in the doorway behind her. These are lost dreams,
he said gently, dreams that wandered away from people who
forgot how to rest. Mallow looked at the bowl. They
look peaceful, she said. They are, said the turtle, But
they need someone to watch over them until their owners
are ready to dream again. Mallow sat beside the bowl.
The glowing dreams drifted slowly, like tiny boats floating across
a calm sea. And the key, she asked, The key
finds the caretaker, said the turtle. The pond simply chooses
The cat Mallow looked around the warm cottage, the lantern light,
the quiet shelves, the gentle drifting dreams. It was a
comfortable place, very comfortable. Indeed, she curled her tail around
her paws. Well, she said softly, I suppose I can
stay for a while outside The lantern trees swayed quietly
in the evening breeze. The magic pond rested peacefully beyond
the willow tree, and in the warm cottage. At the
center of that hidden world, a stray cat named Mallow
settled in beside a bowl of drifting dreams, ready to
guard them patiently until the night carried them back to
the people who needed them most. The rusty key by
the magic pond. In a quiet corner of the countryside,
where the fields rolled gently like sleeping hills, there wandered
a small stray cat named Mallow, who belonged to no
one in particular and was quite content about it. Mallow
had soft, gray fur, a slightly crooked tail, and the
thoughtful expression of a creature who believed the world contained
many interesting secrets, but saw no reason to hurry while
discovering them. Most days, she traveled slowly along hedgerows and
old stone walls, investigating insects, warming herself on sunlit rocks,
and occasionally excepting milk from farmers who pretended they were
not fond of stray cats. At night, she preferred sleeping
in peaceful places, a hollow tree, an abandoned wheelbarrow. Once
she spent an entire evening curled inside an empty flower pot,
which she considered extremely comfortable, despite the mild confusion of
the gardener. Mallow liked quiet places best, and there was
no place quieter than the old pond at the far
end of Willowmere Field. The pond had been there for
so long that nobody remembered exactly when it first appeared.
Some said it had always been there, Others believed it
had wandered in from somewhere else and decided to stay.
Either way, the pond was calm, round and very good
at reflecting the sky. Dragonflies skimmed across its surface like
tiny pilots, testing in visible runways. Frogs sat along the
edges with the patient confidence of creatures who had important
thoughts about water, and every evening the surface of the
pond turned silver beneath the rising moon. Mallow visited the
pond often, not because she was thirsty, but because the
pond felt interesting, water sometimes moved in curious patterns, reflections
occasionally behaved slightly differently than expected, and once Mallow was
almost certain, she saw a cloud blink. On the evening,
our story begins. Mallow wandered down the narrow path through
the tall grass toward the pond. As the sun slipped
slowly below the fields. The air smelled of warm earth
and drifting flowers. Crickets were beginning their evening orchestra, with
the careful enthusiasm of musicians warming up before a concert.
Mallow stepped lightly onto a flat stone beside the water.
She stretched one paw, then the other, then curled her
tail neatly around her paws. The pond was perfectly still.
The sky above it glowed softly with pale pink clouds
drifting toward the horizon. For several peaceful minutes, nothing happened.
Then the water made a small sound. It was not
a splash, not quite a ripple either, more like the
quiet sound of someone clearing their throat under water. Mallow
lifted one ear. The surface of the pond trembled slightly.
A few small circles appeared in the center. They spread
outward slowly, then something rose gently from the water. It
was a key, a small, old iron key. Its surface
was brown with rust and glimmered faintly in the evening light.
As it floated calmly toward the edge of the pond,
Mallow blinked. She had seen many curious things in her travels,
but keys rising politely out of ponds were relatively new.
The key drifted closer until it bumped softly against the
stone where she sat. Mallow leaned forward. She sniffed it cautiously.
It smelled faintly of water, old metal, and something else,
something very old, as if the key had once opened
a door that had been waiting a very long time.
Mallow tapped it gently with one paw. The key rolled slightly,
then the pond rippled again. The reflection of the sky
shimmered for a moment, the water did not reflect the
sky at all. Instead, it showed something different, a narrow
stone path winding through tall lantern trees, a wooden gate
standing half open beyond it, the faint outline of a
small cottage with warm glowing windows. Mallow stared down into
the water. Then the reflection returned to normal. The sky
was back. The clouds drifted peacefully as if nothing unusual
had happened. Mallow looked at the rusty key again. Hmm,
she said softly, which was the sort of thing she
sometimes said when interesting mysteries appeared. She picked up the
key carefully in her mouth. It was surprisingly light. The
rust tasted slightly like rain. The pond made another quiet ripple.
This time, the reflection shifted again. The lantern lit path
appeared once more. The wooden gate creaked gently in a
wind that did not exist. Above the water, The glowing
cottage windows flickered like a friendly invitation. Mallow tilted her head.
The path in the reflection seemed to move slightly whenever
she held the key, as if the key and the
strange reflection were somehow connected. She lowered the key back
onto the stone. Immediately the reflection returned to the ordinary
evening sky. Mallow picked it up again. The lantern path
appeared once more. Well, She murmured around the key. That
seems clear enough. Mallow had never been the sort of
cat who ignored invitations from mysterious ponds. She hopped down
from the stone and padded slowly around the edge of
the water. The reflection moved with her. The lantern path
inside the pond curved gently through quiet, glowing trees. The
small wooden gate waited patiently, and beyond it, the cottage
windows glowed warmly, like a place where interesting things might
be explained. Mallow paused beside a patch of reeds. She
studied the reflection carefully. The path seemed to begin somewhere
near the far side of the pond, right where the
grass grew thickest, beneath an old leaning willow tree. Mallow
placed the rusty key carefully on the ground. For a moment,
the reflection vanished again. She picked it up once more.
The lantern path returned instantly. Yes, she said softly, that
will do. With the rusty key held gently between her teeth,
Mallow began walking around the pond toward the leaning willow.
The evening grew quieter as she moved through the tall grass.
Fireflies flickered slowly in the warm twilight air. The lantern
path inside the pond drifted beside her, like a quiet
secret waiting to be followed. And somewhere beyond the reflection
of the water, the small cottage door creaked open slightly,
as though it had been waiting a very long time
for a wandering stray cat to arrive with the correct
rusty key. Mallow walked slowly through the tall grass toward
the leaning willow tree. While the evening deepened. Around the
quiet pond, fireflies drifted lazily through the warm air, like
tiny lanterns, practicing their glow before night officially began. The
rusty key rested gently between her teeth. Each step she
took caused the strange reflection in the pond to move
beside her, like a quiet map made of water and moonlight.
The lantern lit path inside the pond curved patiently through
glowing trees. The wooden gate waited half open, and the
small cottage beyond it looked warm and welcoming in a
way that suggested someone inside might be expecting company. Mallow
reached the willow tree, its long branches hung low over
the water like sleepy green curtains. She stepped carefully onto
a patch of soft earth beside the trunk. The pond
was very still again, the reflection of the lantern path
hovered directly beneath her paws. Mallow looked at the rusty key,
then at the reflection, then back at the key again. Well,
she said, quietly, this seems important. She lowered one paw
toward the water. The surface trembled slightly. The lantern path
inside the reflection brightened. Mallow dipped her paw into the pond.
Instead of becoming wet, the water shimmered softly, like cool
glass touched by moonlight. The reflection did not break, Instead,
it opened. The lantern lit path rose gently from the
surface of the pond, like a quiet staircase made of
glowing mist. Mallow blinked slowly. She had traveled many unusual
places in her life, but stepping into a pond that
behaved like a doorway was pleasantly new. With the rusty
key still held care in her mouth, Mallow stepped forward.
Her paw touched the glowing path. It felt warm and solid.
The pond water behind her closed quietly, like a curtain
falling at the end of a very peaceful play. For
a moment, the world was softly, silver and silent. Then
the lantern trees appeared around her. Mallow now stood on
the narrow stone path she had seen inside the reflection.
Tall trees lined both sides of the path. Small lanterns
hung from their branches, swaying gently in a breeze that
smelled faintly of rain and old stories. The wooden gate
stood ahead. It creaked softly as Mallow approached. Beyond the gate,
the little cottage rested in a clearing, surrounded by low,
glowing flowers. The windows shone warmly. Smoke drifted lazily from
the chimney, like a quiet thought rising into the evening sky.
Mallow padded forward and nudged the gate with her nose.
It swung open politely. Good evening, said a calm voice.
Mallow turned her head. Sitting on a smooth stone beside
the path was an old turtle with a shell covered
in delicate patterns that looked strangely like tiny maps. The
turtle adjusted a pair of very round spectacles. Hugh, must
be the one the pond has been waiting for, said
the turtle. Mallow placed the rusty key on the path
and sat down neatly beside it. I found this, she said.
The turtle nodded slowly. Yes, he replied. It tends to
appear when it's needed. Mallow looked toward the cottage. What
does it open, she asked. The turtle smiled in the slow,
thoughtful way turtles often do. Ah, he said, that depends
entirely on the cat holding it. Mallow twitched one ear thoughtfully,
that sounds complicated, she said, not really, said the turtle,
just personal. He gestured toward the cottage door. Mallow stood
and picked up the rusty key again. She padded slowly
across the clearing. The cottage door waited quietly at the
top of two wooden steps. Beside the door hung a
small iron lock. It was old, older than the rusty key. Perhaps.
Mallow lifted the key and carefully placed it into the lock.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the lock turned with
a soft click. The cottage door opened inward. Warm golden
light spilled across the clearing. Mallow stepped inside. The room
was cozy and peaceful. Shelves lined the walls, filled with
curious objects, lanterns, old maps, small glass jars containing drifting
lights that glowed like captured fireflies. But what caught Mallow's
attention most was the large wooden bowl sitting on a
table in the center of the room. Inside the bowl
floated dozens of tiny glowing shapes. Each one shimmered softly,
like a memory made of moonlight. Mallow leaned closer inside
one glow, She saw a small kitten sleeping safely beside
a fireplace. Inside another She saw a long road beneath
autumn trees, where a traveler walked slowly home. Another glow
held the image of a quiet garden where someone sat
peacefully reading beside a pond. The turtle appeared in the
doorway behind her. These are lost dreams, he said gently,
dreams that wandered away from people who forgot how to rest.
Mallow looked at the bowl. They look peaceful, she said.
They are, said the turtle, But they need someone to
watch over them until their owners are ready to dream again.
Mallow sat beside the bowl. The glowing dreams drifted slowly,
like tiny boats floating across a calm sea. And the key,
she asked, The key finds the caretaker, said the turtle.
The pond simply chooses the cat. Mallow looked around the
warm cottage, the lantern light, the quiet shelves, the gentle
drifting dreams. It was a comfortable place, very comfortable. Indeed,
she curled her tail around her paws. Well, she said softly,
I suppose I can stay for a while outside The lantern.
Trees weighed quietly in the evening breeze. The magic pond
rested peacefully beyond the willow tree, and in the warm cottage.
At the center of that hidden world, a stray cat
named Mallow settled in beside a bowl of drifting dreams,
ready to guard them patiently until the night carried them
back to the people who needed them most, the rusty
key by the magic pond. In a quiet corner of
the countryside, where the fields rolled gently like sleeping hills,
there wandered a small stray cat named Mallow, who belonged
to no one in particular and was quite content about it.
Mallow had soft gray fur, a slightly crooked tail, and
the thoughtful expression of a creature who believed the world
contained many interesting secrets, but saw no reason to hurry
while discovering them. Most days she traveled slowly along hedge
rows and old stone walls, investigating insects, warming herself on
sunlit rocks, and occasionally excepting milk from farmers who pretended
they were not fond of stray cats. At night, she
preferred sleeping in peaceful places, a hollow tree, an abandoned wheelbarrow. Once,
she spent an entire evening curled inside an empty flower pot,
which she considered extremely comfortable, despite the mild confusion of
the gardener. Mallow liked quiet places best, and there was
no place quieter than the old pond at the far
end of Willowmere Field. The pond had been there for
so long that nobody remembered exactly when when it first appeared.
Some said it had always been there. Others believed it
had wandered in from somewhere else and decided to stay.
Either way, The pond was calm, round and very good
at reflecting the sky. Dragonflies skimmed across its surface like
tiny pilots, testing in visible runways. Frogs sat along the
edges with the patient confidence of creatures who had important
thoughts about water, and every evening the surface of the
pond turned silver beneath the rising moon. Mallow visited the
pond often, not because she was thirsty, but because the
pond felt interesting. Water sometimes moved in curious patterns, reflections
occasionally behaved slightly differently than expected, and once Mallow was
almost certain she saw a cloud blink. On the evening,
our story begins. Mallow wandered down the narrow path through
the tall grass toward the pond. As the sun slipped
slowly below the fields. The air smelled of warm earth
and drifting flowers. Crickets were beginning their evening orchestra, with
the careful enthusiasm of musicians warming up before a concert.
Mallow stepped lightly onto a flat stone beside the water.
She stretched one paw, then the other, then curled her
tail neatly around her paws. The pond was perfectly still.
The sky above it glowed softly with pale pink clouds
drifting toward the horizon. For several peaceful minutes, nothing happened.
Then the water made a small sound. It was not
a splash, not quite a ripple either, more like the
quiet sound of someone clearing their throat underwater. Mallow lifted
one ear. The surface of the pond trembled slightly. A
few small circles appeared in the center. They spread outward slowly.
Then when something rose gently from the water. It was
a key, a small, old iron key. Its surface was
brown with rust and glimmered faintly in the evening light.
As it floated calmly toward the edge of the pond,
Mallow blinked. She had seen many curious things in her travels,
but keys rising politely out of ponds were relatively new.
The key drifted closer until it bumped softly against the
stone where she sat. Mallow leaned forward. She sniffed it cautiously.
It smelled faintly of water, old metal, and something else,
something very old, as if the key he had once
opened a door that had been waiting a very long time.
Mallow tapped it gently with one paw. The key rolled slightly.
Then the pond rippled again. The reflection of the sky
shimmered for a moment, the water did not reflect the
sky at all. Instead, it showed something different, a narrow
stone path winding through tall lantern trees, a wooden gate
standing half open beyond it, the faint outline of a
small cottage with warm glowing windows. Mallow stared down into
the water. Then the reflection returned to normal. The sky
was back, The clouds drifted peacefully, as if nothing unusual
had happened. Mallow looked at the rusty key again. Hm,
she said softly, which was the sort of thing she
sometimes said when interesting mysteries appeared. She picked up the
key carefully in her mouth. It was surprisingly light. The
rust tasted slightly like rain. The pond made another quiet ripple.
This time the reflection shifted again. The lantern lit path
appeared once more, The wooden gate creaked gently in a
wind that did not exist. Above the water, the glowing
cottage windows flickered like a friendly invitation. Mallow tilted her head.
The path in the reflections seemed to move slightly whenever
she held the key, as if the key and the
strange reflection were somehow connected. She lowered the key back
onto the stone. Immediately the reflection returned to the ordinary
evening sky. Mallow picked it up again. The lantern path
appeared once more.
Speaker 3: Well.
Speaker 2: She murmured around the key. That seems clear enough. Mallow
had never been the sort of cat who ignored invitations
from mysterious ponds. She hopped down from the stone and
padded so slowly around the edge of the water. The
reflection moved with her. The lantern path inside the pond
curved gently through quiet, glowing trees. The small wooden gate
waited patiently, and beyond it the cottage windows glowed warmly,
like a place where interesting things might be explained. Mallow
paused beside a patch of reeds. She studied the reflection carefully.
The path seemed to begin somewhere near the far side
of the pond, right where the grass grew thickest. Beneath
an old, leaning willow tree. Mallow placed the rusty key
carefully on the ground. For a moment, the reflection vanished again.
She picked it up once more. The lantern path returned instantly. Yes,
she said softly, that will do. With the rusty key
held gently between her teeth, Mallow began walking around the
pond toward the leaning willow The evening grew quieter as
she moved through the tall grass. Fireflies flickered slowly in
the warm twilight air. The lantern path inside the pond
drifted beside her like a quiet secret waiting to be followed,
and somewhere beyond the reflection of the water, the small
cottage door creaked open slightly, as though it had been
waiting a very long time for a wandering stray cat
to arrive. With the correct rusty key, Mallow walked slowly
through the tall grass toward the leaning willow tree. While
the evening deepened. Around the quiet pond, fireflies drifted lazily
through the warm air, like tiny lanterns practicing their glow
before night officially began. The rusty key rested gently between
her teeth. Each step she took caused the strange reflection
in the pond to move beside her, like a quiet
map made of water and moonlight. The lantern lit path
inside the pond curved patiently through glowing trees. The wooden
gate waited half open, and the small cot beyond it
looked warm and welcoming in a way that suggested someone
inside might be expecting company. Mallow reached the willow tree,
its long branches hung low over the water like sleepy
green curtains. She stepped carefully onto a patch of soft
earth beside the trunk. The pond was very still. Again,
the reflection of the lantern path hovered directly beneath her paws.
Mallow looked at the rusty key, then at the reflection,
then back at the key again. Well, she said quietly,
this seems important. She lowered one paw toward the water.
The surface trembled slightly. The lantern path inside the reflection brightened.
Mallow dipped her paw into the pond. Instead of becoming wet,
the water shimmered softly, like cool glass touched by moonlight.
The reflection did not break. Instead, it opened. The lantern
lip path rose gently from the surface of the pond
like a quiet staircase made of glowing mist. Mallow blinked slowly.
She had traveled many unusual places in her life, but
stepping into a pond that behaved like a doorway was
pleasantly new. With the rusty key still held carefully in
her mouth, Mallow stepped forward. Her pow touched the glowing path.
It felt warm and solid. The pond water behind her
closed quietly, like a curtain falling at the end of
a very peaceful play. For a moment, the world was softly,
silver and silent. Then the lantern trees appeared around her.
Mallow now stood on the narrow stone path she had
seen inside the reflection. Tall trees lined both sides of
the path. Small lanterns hung from their branches, swaying gently
in a breeze that smelt faintly of rain and old stories.
The wooden gate stood ahead. It creaked softly. As Mallow approached.
Beyond the gate, the little cottage rested in a clearing,
surrounded by low, glowing flowers. The windows shone warmly. Smoke
drifted lazily from the chimney, like a quiet thought rising
into the evening sky. Mallow padded forward and nudged the
gate with her nose. It swung open, politely. Good evening,
said a calm voice. Mallow turned her head. Sitting on
a smooth stone beside the path was an old turtle
with a shell covered in delicate patterns that looked strangely
like tiny maps. The turtle adjusted a pair of very
round spectacles. Hugh, must be the one the pond has
been waiting for, said the turtle. Mallow placed the rusty
key on the path and sat down neatly beside it.
I found this, she said. The turtle nodded slowly, Yes,
he replied, it tends to appear when it's needed. Mallow
looked toward the cottage. What does it open, she asked.
The turtle smiled in the slow, thoughtful way turtles often do. Ah,
he said, that depends entirely on the cat holding it.
Mallow twitched one ear thoughtfully. That sounds complicated, she said,
not really, said the turtle, just personal. He gestured toward
the cottage door. Mallow stood and picked up the rusty
key again. She padded slowly across the clearing. The cottage
door waited quietly at the top of two wooden steps.
Beside the door hung a small iron lock. It was old,
older than the rusty key, perhaps, Mallow lifted the key
and carefully placed it into the lock. For a moment,
nothing happened. Then the lock turned with a soft click.
The cottage door opened inward, warm golden light spilled across
the clearing Mallow stepped inside. The room was cozy and peaceful.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with curious objects, lanterns, old maps,
small glass jars containing drifting lights that glowed like captured fireflies.
But what caught Mallow's attention most was the large wooden
bowl sitting on a table in the center of the room.
Inside the bowl floated dozens of tiny glowing shapes. Each
one shimmered softly, like a memory made of moonlight. Mallow
leaned closer. Inside one glow, she saw a small kitten
sleeping safely beside a fireplace. Inside another, she saw a
long road beneath autumn trees where a traveler walked slowly home.
Another glow held the image of a quiet garden where
someone sat peacefully reading beside a pond. The turtle appeared
in the doorway behind her. These are lost dreams, he
said gently, dreams that wandered away from people who forgot
how to rest. Mallow looked at the bowl. They look peaceful,
she said. They are, said the turtle, but they need
someone to watch over them until their owners are ready
to dream again. Mallow sat beside the bowl. The glowing
dreams drifted slowly like tiny boats floating across a calm sea.
And the key, she asked, The key finds the caretaker,
said the turtle. The pond simply chooses the cat. Mallow
looked around the warm cottage, the lantern light, the quiet shelves,
the gentle drifting dreams. It was a comfortable place, very comfortable. Indeed,
she curled her tail around her paws. Well, she said softly,
I suppose I can stay for a while outside the
lantern trees swayed quietly in the evening breeze. The magic
pond rested peacefully beyond the willow tree, and in the
warm cottage. At the center of that hidden world, a
stray cat named Mallow settled in beside a bowl of
drifting dreams, ready to guard them patiently until the night
carried them back to the people who needed them most.
Speaker 3: Stu It s