Waldemar and the Hedgehog Turtle

More about Waldemar and the Hedgehog Turtle

The morning mist still hung between the trees as Waldemar wandered along the narrow path. His large backpack weighed familiarly on his shoulders, and his red hat peeped out of the twilight like a small splash of color. For days, he'd had the feeling that something awaited him, an encounter that tugged at his curiosity like an invisible thread. The stream, where he often rested, glittered between the mossy stones. Waldemar sat down on a fallen branch, dug out a piece of dried bread, and watched the water dance. Then he heard a faint scratching, so cautious it sounded almost like the scratching of a feather. Curiously, he raised his head. On a rock on the far bank sat a strange creature. It had the round eyes of a cat, its skin shimmered greenish like damp leaves, and on its back was a shield as bright orange as an autumn leaf, crowned with spines. Waldemar blinked, then smiled. "Well, you're certainly one of those," he murmured softly, standing up. The little creature, barely larger than a rabbit, tilted its head. Its long ears waggled, and its large eyes seemed to ask whether this strange wanderer was a friend or a threat. Waldemar slowly raised his paw—a welcoming gesture, as calm as the flow of the stream. The hedgehog turtle, as he would later call it, slid hesitantly down the rock. Its small claws clicked against the stone, and every time a bird call emerged from the forest, it flinched and pulled its head and legs halfway back under the shield. But it kept going, step by step, until it reached the bank. "Don't worry," Waldemar said, making his voice as soft as moss. "I don't bite. I have bread too, if you like." He placed a piece next to it. The tortoise stopped, sniffed, and finally leaped across the stream, as carefully as a leaf carried by the wind. It landed right in front of his boots, looked up at him—and then began nibbling at the bread as if it had never tasted tastier. Waldemar laughed softly. "So, we two could be friends. I'm Waldemar. And you... you look like a little hedgehog turtle. It fits." The little creature blinked as if it understood, and an almost happy snort escaped its throat. They sat like that for a while. Waldemar told stories of his travels—of rivers that glowed in the dark, of trees that whispered with voices, and of the moss mice he had once accompanied. The hedgehog turtle listened, its head tilted curiously, and when it was particularly excited, its shell rattled softly like a tiny drum. As the sun rose higher, Waldemar knew this wasn't just any day of travel. It was the beginning of a new friendship, one that found its place in his backpack like another story. "Come with me," he finally said, and sure enough, the hedgehog turtle trotted along beside him, as if it had always been a part of his journey.