In a village far far away the sun peeked over the hills, casting golden light across the quiet village of NOROBI . Roosters crowed, dogs barked in the distance, and a soft wind rustled the leaves of the old oak trees that lined the narrow dirt paths. It was the kind of morning that smelled of warm earth and fresh bread—and Amanda loved it.
Amanda was ten years old, with curly brown hair that always seemed to be tangled no matter how hard she tried to brush it. She had bright green eyes, quick hands, and a curiosity that made her both loved and slightly feared in the village. If something was missing, broken, or unexpectedly fixed, people often said, "Ask Amanda. She probably knows."
She lived in a small cottage at the edge of the village with her grandmother, who everyone called Nana May. Their home was simple but cozy, with the stone walls and a garden filled with herbs, vegetables, and a very opinionated chicken named Peony.
This morning, Amanda was already outside, barefoot in the dew-grass, holding a small basket.
"Nana, I'm going to check the traps!" she called through the open kitchen window.
"Don't go near the river!" Nana May shouted back, her voice half-lost in the sound of kneading dough. "It rained last night. The bank will be slippery."
"I won't!" Amanda lied.
She made her way through the village, waving to old Mr. Dobbins who was hammering something on his porch, and dodging a flock of chickens that always acted like they owned the path.
Amanda's traps were simple wooden boxes she had built herself with help from the carpenter. She wasn't trying to catch anything big—just maybe a squirrel, or if she was lucky, a hedgehog. Not to hurt them, of course. Amanda liked to watch animals, study them, then let them go. Her dream was to be a forest healer—someone who knew every plant, every animal, and how they worked together.
She found the first trap empty. The second had been destroyed, and the bait was gone. Amanda frowned and crouched beside it, studying the disturbed leaves. Tiny footprints.
"Too clever," she muttered, grinning.
Then she turned her head toward the sound of rushing water. The river wasn't far. Nana May had told her stories about it—how it could rise in an instant, how it had carried away a cart once, years ago. But Amanda third trap was just beyond the bend, near a little patch of mushrooms she didn't want to leave unchecked.
"I'll be quick," she whispered to no one.
The path narrowed, and the ground was muddy, just as Nana warned. But Amanda moved carefully, stepping only where roots held the soil firm. She reached the last trap, nestled between two stones. Her breath caught.
Inside was a small creature—brown and soft-looking, with a long tail and twitching nose. Not a rat. Something rarer.
"A marten?" she whispered in awe.
The animal blinked at her, nervous but unhurt. Amanda slowly opened the latch, letting it scurry free. It paused just long enough to look back at her before vanishing into the trees.
She stood up, heart pounding, half from excitement, half from the thrill of disobeying Nana May. But something else .