Breach of Trust
News of our interactions with the human world, a forbidden act, had spread like wildfire. This sparked a heated debate within the community, “We’ve coexisted peacefully for months now. Maybe, just maybe, helping him with his creations can bridge the gap between our worlds.” Dad explained. My heart still pounding, looked around at the sceptical faces, unsure if his dad’s optimism would be enough to mend the fragile trust between their miniature world and the giants above.
The Silent Plea
The air hung heavy with disapproval. Every frown, every averted gaze, was a hammer blow to Dad’s leadership and my burgeoning hope. Exile loomed, a bitter truth we couldn’t ignore. We decided to take a bold step and with heavy hearts, we penned a letter, each stroke of the pen etching a line of worry on our faces. Addressed to the giant woodworker, it was a plea for refuge, a lifeline thrown across the vast divide. In exchange for food, and a good word for us in the human world, we offered the one thing we had left – our expertise in crafting furniture.
Hours stretched into an agonizing wait, and after what seemed like a decade, a giant hand, holding a rolled-up piece of paper, hovered just inches away. With trembling fingers, Dad reached out and retrieved the letter. As he unfolded it, a gasp escaped his lips. The woodworker had accepted! Touched by our plight and intrigued by our skills. A wave of relief washed over me. In that moment, a flicker of hope, brighter than any I’d ever known, ignited in my eyes. It wasn’t just hope for our own future, but the hope of bridging the gap between two worlds, a future where giants and miniatures could coexist, not just peacefully, but cooperatively.
