The Flower Who Calmed the Wolf

  Talestra watched their little faces as a hush settled over the room. She took a slow breath, letting the scents of flowers, pastries, and the hearth fill her senses, then lifted her hand to signal it was time.
  “Are we ready for tonight’s tale, my lovely little wishers?” she asked, her voice rich and soft, floating through the Solarium. Small hands clapped, and the hearth crackled in answer as she smiled. Excited voices called out their favorite stories:
  “The Dancers!” Little Jaz Featherleaf shouted, her green eyes sparkling.
  “The Honey Peach Tart!” Levi Skye called from his corner, clutching his purple dragon.
  “Wolf and his Unicorn Tea Party!” Ari Solene giggled, hugging a large plush unicorn, her eyes peeking from a small domino mask.
  Talestra grinned, laughing softly as she listened to their requests, weaving her hands over the fire. The flames responded, shaping themselves beautifully in the center of the hearth. Petals shimmered with color as the fire seemed to melt away, drawing the children into an enchanted hush. She looked at her small audience, magic and wonder reflected in their wide eyes.
  “Tonight, my little wishers, I shall tell the story of The Flower Who Calmed the Wolf,” she said, spinning her hands into the flames, showing them a dancing wolf. The fire leapt and shimmered, echoing the story she was about to tell. Talestra inhaled, counting her heartbeat, letting the moment of magic settle over them all.
  “As all stories begin… we shall start with ‘Once upon a time.’ Watch the fire with me as I tell the tale, and I may need a few of you to help later!” she added, sending a ripple of excited whispers and claps through the children.
  Talestra began to weave her story through smoke and flame, and soon an image appeared to float above the hearth, shimmering in the flickering light.     Once upon a time, in Stormer, in the Shimmering Fields near Thunderfall Valley, there was a meadow bursting with beautiful flowers. One day, a young woman from Thunderfall wandered into the field, gathering blooms to weave a crown for her sister Phedra’s wedding. She sat among the blossoms for hours, weaving and singing a sweet song about the flowers.     Her voice floated across the meadow like a gentle breeze, blending with the soft buzz of insects and the warm sunlight kissing the green grasses.
  She paused mid-song when an old woman appeared, gliding toward her in flowing, muted gowns.   “What a pretty voice you have, little flower,” the old woman crooned, her eyes twinkling mysteriously.   “Thank you, good mother,” Dahlia said, rising slowly. Something felt… off. The old woman’s gaze lingered on her, unblinking, and Dahlia’s heart began to race. She tried to remember what she had been told about picking flowers—had she strayed too far from the village meadow?   “What’s your name, sweetling?” the old woman asked, stepping closer. The edges of her dress seemed to blur in Dahlia’s vision. Dahlia tried to focus, swallowing hard.   “Dahlia,” she whispered, staring at her feet. Fingers slipped from the flower crown she had been weaving as a strange sound—half-laugh, half-echo—filled the air. Then, something strange happened. Soft padding echoed across the field. Dahlia’s petals trembled in fear. From the shadows emerged a massive wolf, its dark black fur matted and streaked with clumps of dried blood, its red eyes glinting in the dim light. Its sharp teeth gleamed as it sniffed the wind.   The wolf padded closer and settled beside her. Dahlia trembled, unsure what to make of this fearsome creature. Yet as the day crept on, she realized the wolf merely slept, curling its great body protectively around her blooms.   When it finally woke, the wolf sniffed at her curiously, tilting its head as if puzzled by the little flower. And then, Dahlia understood—she was no longer alone.     The wolf lingered near her, chasing off squirrels and rabbits that dared approach. When days passed without rain, he carried water from the nearby brook in a shell, gently sprinkling it over her petals.   One cold morning, the wolf stayed close as always. But when he went hunting that day, Dahlia’s heart sank. Surely this time he would not return… surely she would be alone again. She looked to the heavy, gray sky, her thoughts drifting silently on the breeze that kissed her petals.   Then she saw them—a murder of crows swooping down, sharp beaks pecking at her delicate petals. Her blossoms tore under their attack. No… this will be my end, she thought, remembering Granny Nettle’s cruel warning.       For days, he cared for Dahlia—bringing her water, never straying far, chasing off predators, and guarding her from the elements.   Slowly, as the seasons changed, so did he. “I won’t leave you now,” he whispered. “You brought me peace.”   He spent his days telling her stories of distant lands and forgotten battles. At night, he swore he heard her gentle singing in his dreams, the notes of flowers and gold. He had once been cursed by an enchantress, told that only if he found peace would he find his way back. That little flower, bright and unwavering, had helped him do so. Around her, he planted more blooms, so she would never be lonely.   One night, under a full Lunestra, Dahlia thought she heard the wicked laughter of Granny Nettle. The man glanced around warily, protective and watchful. As dawn broke and the first sun touched her petals, Dahlia felt herself shift—she was herself again. She looked at the man, her eyes wide with wonder.   “My guardian,” she whispered.   “My peace,” he replied.     “That friends can be found in the most surprising places,” whispered Ari Solene, hugging her plush unicorn tightly.
  “That being brave and kind can turn a curse into something beautiful,” Levi Skye said, smiling shyly.
  “And that magic can come from caring for others,” Georgie murmured softly, trailing off into giggles.
  Talestra smiled and waved her hands, letting tiny stars fill the air as the children giggled, reaching to catch them.
  “Those are all such beautiful lessons, my little wishers,” she said warmly. “And for you, this is my tale of The Flower Who Calmed the Wolf.”
  The children crowded in for hugs, and Talestra placed gentle blessings upon them, wishing that all their hopes and dreams might come true. As she looked out the castle window, a smile touched her lips. In the soft glow of the Night of Infinite Dreams, she saw Lior and Dahlia dancing together in the flower-filled meadow, their hearts at peace, the magic of the night reflected in every petal.