Hugo vom Wurzelstock und das Geheimnis des alten Freundes

More about Hugo vom Wurzelstock und das Geheimnis des alten Freundes

It was a mild morning in the enchanted wood as Hugo of the Wurzelstock sat on his porch, puffing his pipe and listening to the birds sing. The rocking chair creaked softly in time with the wind, and before him, the dew shone like little stars on the grass. "A good day for nothing in particular," Hugo murmured contentedly. But as he was refilling his pipe, he heard a faint treading on the path. Hugo pricked up his ears. It was rare for someone to lead the way to his hidden hobbit-house. A figure stepped out of the bracken: plump, with a ruffled beard, a cloak that smelled of moss, and eyes that blinked shyly like mice. "Brumbling!" cried Hugo, almost jumping out of his chair. "By the blackberries! Is that really you?" The other nodded, took off his hat, and smiled wearily. "It's me, old friend. I hope I'm not disturbing you." "Disturb me? You light up the whole day! Come here, sit down." Hugo moved the rocking chair and fetched a second stool. "What brings you to my corner? I thought you'd be long gone, in the mountains of the Misty Sheep." Brummel sat down and sighed deeply. "I was there. But... something called me back." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, silver box. "Hugo, I'm carrying a secret. And I don't know if I can keep it any longer." Hugo raised his eyebrows. "What secret, Brummel?" His friend turned the box in his hands. "Many years ago... do you remember the evening we sat by the river and looked at the stars?" Hugo nodded. "The evening when the sky was so bright that even the frogs fell silent." "That's the one." Brummel held up the box. "Back then, something fell from the sky. I found it on the shore. It looked like a drop of light, set in stone. I didn't know what it was. So I kept it here." He opened the box. Inside lay a small, shimmering stone, pulsing softly as if it had its own heartbeat. Hugo leaned forward. "What in all the world is that?" Brummel looked at him seriously. "I don't know. But last night... it spoke." Hugo blinked. "Spoken?" "Not with words. With pictures. It showed me a gate, deep in the forest, overgrown with thorns, guarded by three shadows. And it showed me... you." Hugo leaned back, puffed on his pipe. "Me? Then there must be a reason why you're here today." Brummel nodded. "I think the stone wants us to go together. To the gate. I don't know what awaits us there. But I sense it's important." Hugo was silent for a moment, then he smiled crookedly. "Well, old friend—I didn't have anything special planned today. A little adventure comes in handy." He stood up, threw on his cloak, and put his pipe in its leather case. "Let's go, Brummel. Perhaps there's a story waiting beyond the gate that's been dying to be told." And so they left the hobbit-house, Hugo of the Rootstock and Brummel Mossbeard, two old friends on a new path. Behind them, the rocking chair creaked one last time, and the morning dew shimmered on the grass like little secrets ready to be revealed.