Free shipping
45,00€
In the forest they know him for showing up right when a tree creaks in a strange way, as if a branch were hurting. He comes closer without rushing, touches the rough bark with respect, and goes very quiet, listening. He wears moss green on the outside and earth brown on the inside, as if the rain had painted him by hand with nothing but walks and trunk-hugs.
He absolutely loves wandering along the riverbank with a crooked raffia hat, greeting the smooth little stones (sometimes he licks them, for science, to see if they taste like mountain). And he’s got a serious soft spot for hens: he tells them made-up gossip so they’ll go clucking it all over the place and distract the nosy, chatty magpies.
- Patches up nests with twigs and dry leaves, so you can’t even spot the bodge
- Scolds humans who yank moss, but with good vibes
- Hides seeds wherever a ritual poop plops down, so something lovely can sprout
They say he’s just the right height to look little animals straight in the eyes, and that his wisdom doesn’t sound serious at all: it sounds like a low little laugh, like a river, and like a forest breathing through fog.
