The area she had stumbled upon was far unlike anything she had seen before, if a wearied journeyer slumbered past or an adventurer too focused on their destination were to walk through this way they would miss it. The first signs were the tiny footprints, Analise noticed them at the edges of the path she walked, mostly hidden by leaves and fodder, but if you crouched down and peeked under the bushes you could see them clearly, like a tiny pathway had been created beside her own path to avoid being trodden on, or perhaps seen. The footprints were the size of the nail on your smallest toe, slender and light. But they were all over the place, it was impossible to dissect a single one’s journey along the little path, and it was a bit strange that something so small would leave a mark on the soil. When putting all the traits together, one could discern that they were dancing along the path, not walking.

  Analise followed the dancing footprints, hidden among the leaves, until they strayed away from the path a little way, and there they disappeared. Analise searched the area around where the footprints seemed to disappear and could see no sign of them, except, for a tiny little backpack, or at least it looked like a backpack. It had been sitting on a small stone quite near to where the tiny footprints disappeared and seemed to be made from various colored leaves, strewn together with spiderweb, Analise had to pull out her magnifying lense to make out the detail. Placing it back on the small stone (someone might come back looking for it) Analise stopped looking at the ground and decided to look up instead.

  At first, she saw nothing, just trees, bushes, flowers and tangled vines, but the longer she looked, the more she found. It must’ve been the way the sun was filtering through the leaves, obscuring the obvious signs, for the vines were in fact tiny bridges, linking the trees together above her head, and the trees themselves were homes, nearly unnoticeable windows and doors etched into the bark of the trees. Little washing lines hanging under the bridges looked like flower clusters because the clothing was so bright, perhaps made from the dye of real flowers. The doors to the little homes each had a matching little porch, made from a large mushroom. In fact, when Analise looked closer, there were mushrooms on all the trees, spiraling down each one to make a little staircase. Peering into what seemed a bird’s home in one of the trees, she saw the hole had been made into a dining space, miniature chairs and tables arranged about the tiny room, which also had painted walls and a stage at the back, presumably for entertainment.

  The more she looked the more she found, Analise found that inside the bushes were hidden little carts and vehicles, she wasn’t sure how they went but they looked fun, little helmets sat in piles close by. A pond nearby had fishing supplies being kept in a little shed, and little boats were pulled ashore, presumably carved from sticks. Hidden under the roots beneath the trees were classrooms, a piece of black stone filed smooth had the tiniest chalk writing on it, Analise couldn’t make it out, but she could make out that the rug in the center was made from moss, and the little desks pushed to the edges of the room were each personalized with color and engravings to suit the student that sat there.

  There was a playground hidden under a sapling for shade, its swings and seesaws gently moving in the breeze, a woven basket held toys and balls to play with, there was even a tiny sandpit, with a tiny sandcastle still standing proudly in the center. Nearby was a golf course and cricket range, with moss cut short for smoothness.

  That was one thing that Analise seemed to notice about this tiny little village, there were no obvious places of work. There were places of play and learning and recreation but no workshops or places to create (except a rather large old bird house in a tree that seemed to be being used as an art space). So, where did they make all of this? There didn’t seem to be a place hiding nearby. Analise circled around the area, searching for more clues, if any of the tiny people living here were home, she would’ve asked but that was the other thing that concerned her. Here she was snooping around, and there was absolutely no one home.

  It was on the other side of the camp that she found another little set of footprints, these ones were a little all over the place too, but they were headed away from camp. She followed them. Slowly, the path she followed got bigger, until it was wide enough for her to walk on, and the little footprints disappeared, only to be replaced with larger footprints, still not quite as large as her own. Occasionally she would see traces of the little footprints at the edge of the path, as though they had been walking alongside this new person.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Analise stopped, when she heard whistling in the distance. It could’ve been mistaken for birdsong, but there was a distinct tune about it that made it recognizable. Looking up from the footprints she could see smoke, trailing up from the treetops just ahead.

  Moving more cautiously, for she did not wish to startle anyone, or perhaps meet an unfriendly type a little too upfront, Analise moved forward, treading lightly. The path rounded in front of her, then twisted back once more, avoiding the trees, and it was after that second turn that she saw it.

  The little home was beautiful, made of recycled timber on which grew moss and beautiful green molds and mushrooms, with trailing rosemary’s and lavenders and daisies coming down from the pitched roof, which also housed a chimney, from where the smoke was coming from in little white puffs. There were pots and plants scattered everywhere on the ground and wobbly wooden benches, kept even with stones placed at their feet. A clothesline hung between the left hand corner of the house and the closest tree, and another line as well, but from this one hung pots and pans and fine nets that held a collection of the tiniest plates and cutlery you had ever seen. The stone path around the house was overgrown with wildflowers and the front door had broken stained glass windows that also housed tiny blue flowers in the old glue where dirt was built up. A water trough with a tap sat out the front as well, with waterlilies, dragonflies, azola and frogs making it look serene. Analise also noticed more tiny boats sitting on the edge.

  The most distinct piece of the picture was a large rustic workshop bench to the right of the home, its top worn smooth from work with an array of tools on the side, large hammers and saws and smaller instruments as well, that looked as though they might be used to make tiny things. At the bench, with its moss-covered legs, was a stool, too low to be used for sitting for a person Analise’s size.

  As though on cue, the whistling that Analise had heard came closer, and round from the back of the house appeared a person. His short height wasn’t the most noticeable thing about him, standing at just above her elbow, it was his hair, which became one with his large bushy beard, hanging down to his toes. His beard was littered with small cornflowers and nasturtiums and had small braids with beads throughout, once a dark red, his hair was a dirty brown with traces of both red and grey. He had a large flat nose which had been kissed by the sun on so many occasions that it was nearly entirely covered in freckles, and his eyes were a wonderful mix of grey and blue, the wrinkles at the corners telling the story of all the times he had smiled in his life. His large ears protruded from his beard, and on one had a small drawing of a flower at the edge, blue to match his eyes. His clothes were well kept and clean but were obviously made for work, his pockets full of bits and bobs that Analise couldn’t quite make out.

  He didn’t even seem to notice her, even though she was standing very much out in the open, and went straight to his work bench, jumping up on the stool to make the bench the perfect height. Once there, he pulled from his pockets one of the little carts that Analise had seen earlier, but this one was missing a wheel, of which he pulled out a spare from his other pocket and began to use his smaller tools to fasten it back on, he had stopped whistling as he begun to concentrate. A set of little magnifying lenses clipped onto one of his ears, and he pulled down two of them, which clicked into place in front of his eye, to help him see the fiddly work.

  Analise didn’t even notice that had she wandered over beside the work bench to watch, right next to the small bushy haired man. There she watched for some time as he fixed the axle, straightened out the front and affixed the wheel. The man placed the cart on the bench once he was finished.

  “Do you want to test it?” The man said in a gentle voice.

  Analise didn’t hesitate, she pressed her forefinger lightly on the top of the cart where the little seat was and pushed the cart back and forth and around the table. The wheel was secure.

  “They like to play rough the little guys, absolutely no self-preservation, fun at all costs.”

  “Is that why you help them? And build all their little tools and houses?” Analise found herself asking. The man made her feel completely at ease, as though she had known him forever.

  “Yes, I can’t help but love the little tackers, someone’s gotta keep an eye on them, or else they’ll die out,” The man gave a chuckle, the sparkle in his eye twinkling, “this lot are the last of their kind.”

  “Where are they? I couldn’t see any.”

  “On a field trip to the local strawberry patch.”

  Analise smiled at the response, picturing tiny hands sharing strawberries together.