Lost in the Woods

Once, in a tall white castle beside a deep, whispering forest, lived Princess Sylvie. She had a little brown-and-white dog named Oskar who loved to trot at her heels and wag his tail at everyone.

One bright morning, Sylvie, Oskar, and the nurse went walking near the forest. Sunlight made golden patches on the path, and butterflies danced in the air. "Stay close, Princess," said the nurse. Sylvie nodded and held Oskar’s red ribbon leash.

All at once, a shy deer stepped out between the trees. Its ears flicked, and it looked at Oskar. With a joyful yip, Oskar tugged free and dashed after the deer. "Oskar! Come back!" cried Sylvie. She ran after him, deeper and deeper, between ferns and soft moss. The trees stood taller. The path grew thin and then was gone.

At last Sylvie stopped. The forest felt big and quiet. She could not see the nurse. She could not see the castle. The deer had vanished. Sylvie’s lip trembled, but she stood very still and called, "Oskar!" After a moment, there he was, pushing through the ferns, tail wagging. He licked her hand as if to say, I am here.

“Are we lost?” Sylvie whispered. Oskar’s ears pricked at every sound. A woodpecker tapped. Leaves rustled. Then a friendly voice said, “Well now, who might you be?” A woodcutter stepped from the trees with a bundle of sticks on his back and an axe over his shoulder. His eyes were kind.

“I am Princess Sylvie,” she said, brushing away a tear. “I followed my dog. Now I don’t know the way.” The woodcutter smiled gently. “My cottage is near. Come with me and rest. We will soon find your path again.” He held out his hand, and Sylvie took it. Oskar trotted close beside them.

The cottage was small and warm, with a low door and smoke curling from the chimney. The woodcutter’s wife brought a stool, a cup of sweet milk, and a thick slice of brown bread with honey. “There, there,” she said, tying a ribbon from her basket back in Sylvie’s hair. Two children peeked from behind the table and shyly waved. Oskar sniffed a cat sleeping by the hearth and wagged politely.

They were just finishing the bread when Oskar’s ears shot up again. Far away, a trumpet sounded—one clear call, then another. “Hunting horns,” said the woodcutter. “Someone is searching.” Oskar barked and bounced to the door. The woodcutter took Sylvie’s hand once more and led her outside to the edge of the trees.

Through the forest rode the King with his riders, cloaks bright against the green. He saw Sylvie, leaped from his horse, and swept her into his arms. “My little princess!” he cried. “Oskar, clever dog!” He bowed to the woodcutter and his wife. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said. “You kept our Sylvie safe.”

“Please come to the castle,” said the King. “You must be our guests.” So they all rode back together—Sylvie snug before her father, Oskar sitting proud, the woodcutter’s family smiling wide. At the castle, the Queen met them with a happy hug and a table full of warm soup, sweet cakes, and berries. There was a bright new collar for Oskar, sturdy boots for the woodcutter’s children, a soft shawl for the wife, and a fine cloak for the woodcutter.

That evening, when the stars came out, Princess Sylvie tucked Oskar into his basket. “Today the forest felt very big,” she whispered, “but there are good friends in it.” Oskar thumped his tail. And from then on, when Sylvie walked by the trees, she held her dog’s leash tight, and she always remembered the kind little cottage in the woods.