The Phone's First Words

“Sing to the trees?” I muttered, squinting at the phone’s glowing screen. It had led me past the badger’s grumpy den, through a patch of giggling daisies, and now, here I was, standing in front of a wall of ancient, moss-covered oaks. The phone, nestled in my palm, pulsed with a soft, warm light, and a tiny speaker, no bigger than a ladybug, had just chirped out that utterly bizarre instruction. I’d expected it to show me another arrow, another squiggle on the map, maybe even a helpful hint like “Mind the giant snails!” but singing? To trees?

“Are you quite sure about that, little glowing rectangle?” I asked, patting its smooth, surprisingly warm surface. It didn’t answer, of course, just continued to display the cryptic message. I’d been talking to it ever since it woke up and showed me the treasure map. At first, I’d thought I was imagining things, that the woods were playing tricks on my ears. But no, the phone definitely had a voice. It wasn't a human voice, though. It was more like… like the rustling of dry leaves combined with the tinkling of tiny bells, and it always seemed to be accompanied by a faint scent of cinnamon.

I took a deep breath, feeling a little foolish. “Okay, trees,” I said, my voice a bit shaky. “Prepare yourselves for a performance you’ll never forget.” I cleared my throat, trying to recall any tree-related songs I knew. My mind drew a blank. All I had was a half-remembered nursery rhyme about a little star. “Twinkle, twinkle, little tree…” I began, my voice cracking on the second word. The trees remained resolutely still, their leaves unmoving. I felt a blush creep up my neck. This was ridiculous.