The Guardian's Riddle

The forest canopy was a thick, emerald blanket, stitched with threads of sunlight that dappled the mossy ground. Joy Joel, his small knapsack bumping against his back, pushed aside a curtain of ferns, his heart a mixture of apprehension and a quiet determination. He’d walked for what felt like a very long time, the familiar whispers of his village fading behind him, replaced by the rustle of unseen creatures and the sigh of the wind through ancient trees. He thought of Rose, her usually bright eyes now clouded with a weariness that had become all too common in their village, and a fresh wave of urgency propelled him forward.

He rounded a colossal oak, its bark gnarled like an old man’s knuckles, and stopped. Perched on a low, moss-covered branch, its feathers the colour of twilight, was an owl. It was magnificent, its eyes like pools of liquid amber, wise and ancient. They fixed on Joy Joel with an unnerving intensity. He’d never seen an owl so large, nor one that seemed to regard him with such clear, intelligent thought. He remembered Emma’s words, her voice soft but firm, about the guardians of the woods, and a shiver traced its way down his spine. This must be one of them.

The owl blinked, a slow, deliberate movement. Then, in a voice that was surprisingly clear, like the chime of tiny bells, it spoke. "Hoo goes there, little traveler? What brings a child of the sun into the realm of the moon and stars?"