SHOLA AND THE NIGHT FOREST OF BIRDS

SHOLA AND THE NIGHT FOREST OF BIRDS

The moon was thin and pale, like a careful eye watching from the sky, when Shola stepped into the forest. Night had settled fully, and the world beyond the trees felt very far away. This forest was known among the villagers as Igbó Alẹ́, the Night Forest—a place where birds did not sleep when the sun went down. Instead, they watched.Shola had heard the stories since childhood. They said the birds of the night forest carried memories in their wings. Some carried warnings. Others carried blessings. And a few—very few—carried destiny itself.

TONIGHT ANSWER

The first sound reached him before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A soft flutter, followed by a sharp cry from high above. He lifted his head slowly. Shadows moved across the branches, wings slicing the night air. Owls, nightjars, and birds he could not name shifted from tree to tree, their eyes glowing faintly like distant stars.Shola moved deeper, his feet sinking into damp leaves. Each step felt like a question asked of the forest. The birds responded in their own way—clicks, whistles, sudden bursts of wings. It felt as though they were speaking to one another about him.A long, mournful call echoed from the left. Shola turned, drawn by the sound, and found a tall silk-cotton tree rising above the others. On its highest branch sat a great owl, feathers pale as ash. Its eyes locked onto Shola’s, unblinking.“You walk with heavy thoughts,” the owl seemed to say, though its beak did not move.Shola swallowed hard. “I am searching,” he whispered, unsure why he spoke aloud.The owl spread its wings once, slowly, and the forest responded. Birds stirred everywhere. The silence broke into layers of sound—chirps, hoots, rustles—like a hidden orchestra waking up. The night forest was alive now, and Shola stood at its center.As he walked on, the birds followed—not above him, but around him. Small birds hopped along low branches, their feathers shimmering in moonlight. One bright-feathered bird with a silver throat flew close and circled his head three times before landing ahead on the path.“Follow,” its movement seemed to say.The path narrowed, winding between ancient trees whose roots rose like old bones from the ground. Shola felt fear, but it was a respectful fear, the kind you feel before something powerful and true. The birds’ sounds changed here—gentler, more careful—as if even they were cautious.Suddenly, the forest opened into a wide clearing. Fireflies floated like drifting sparks, and in the center stood a stone circle, worn smooth by time. Birds filled the branches around the clearing, hundreds of them, all silent at once.

SHOLA STEPPED FORWARD

In the center of the stones lay a single feather—long, dark, and edged with gold. The moment Shola picked it up, the birds cried out together. Their voices merged into a sound that felt like wind and song and memory all at once.Images flooded Shola’s mind.He saw his ancestors walking these same paths, guided by birds when the world was new. He saw himself as a child, fearless and curious. He saw the future too—a road filled with choices, some bright, some shadowed, all demanding courage.

• THE FEATHERS GREW MORE HANDS

“You are not lost,” the forest seemed to say. “You are becoming.”The owl’s call rang out again, strong and clear. One by one, the birds took flight, wings beating like a thousand quiet drums. The clearing emptied, leaving Shola alone beneath the moon.When he turned to leave, the forest felt different. The darkness no longer pressed against him. The birds still watched, but now their presence felt protective, like guardians seeing him safely through.At the forest’s edge, Shola stopped and looked back one last time. An owl glided across the moon, and somewhere in the trees, a soft whistle answered.Shola stepped into the open night, the feather hidden close to his heart. He knew he would carry the song of the night forest birds with him forever—a reminder that even in darkness, guidance can fly on silent wings. 🌙🦉🌲