n the depths of the forest, where the trees almost hid the sky, there was a small cabin. In that cabin lived a young girl. She had never seen a village, never seen a city. For her, the world was nothing more than the beams of light filtering through the trees, the songs of the birds, and the presence of her mother.

The girl knew nothing beyond what her mother told her. The mother rarely spoke of the “outside of the forest.” It was as if she were hiding a secret, or perhaps trying to protect her daughter from something.

Sometimes the girl would ask:

Mother, what lies beyond the forest?”

With a faint sorrow in her eyes, the mother would answer:

 The outside of the forest is not ours. Your place is here, the forest loves you.

But as the girl grew older, she began to wonder where the birds flew when they migrated, and what the distant scents carried by the wind meant.

One morning, she found her mother sitting silently in front of the cabin, staring into the distance beyond the forest. There was something hidden in that gaze.

That night, the girl couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, watching the stars through the cracks in the roof. A burning curiosity grew inside her. “What lies beyond the forest? Why has my mother always kept silent?”

At dawn, while her mother went to gather wood, the girl made her decision. She packed a small bundle: a few pieces of bread, some water, and a shawl her mother had woven. Taking a deep breath, she left the cabin behind and walked toward the edge of the forest for the very first time.