Quest the Quail Questions the Quiet Forest E-Book

Kelly Johnson

• Herausgeber: Kelly Johnson
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 97

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

In the Quiet Forest, Quest the quail awakens to an unsettling silence that blankets the woods, where the usual morning chorus of birds, insects, and rustling leaves has vanished. Alarmed but curious, he notices faint, unfamiliar tracks in the damp soil, suggesting another creature has been drawn to the same eerie hush. Guided by his bravery and keen senses, Quest follows the trail through the still, dew-laden forest, observing every subtle cluethe drag of a tail, impressions in moss, trembling droplets of dewas he ventures deeper into the unknown. The silence feels alive, almost expectant, urging him onward, and Quest realizes that this journey, though small in scale, could reveal the forests hidden mysteries. Determined to uncover the cause of the vanished whispers, he presses forward, ready to confront whatever secret has left the forest unnaturally still.

Leseprobe

IMPRESSUM

Archie the Alligator Aims for the Stars

Author: Kelly Johnson

© 2025 Kelly Johnson.

All rights reserved.

Author: Kelly Johnson

Contact: 903 W Woodland Ave, Kokomo, IN 46902

Email: [email protected]

Disclaimer

This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Whisper That Wasn’t There

Chapter 2: Footsteps in the Stillness

Chapter 3: The Owl Who Wouldn’t Hoot

Chapter 4: The River That Forgot to Sing

Chapter 5: Murmurs Beneath the Moss

Chapter 6: The Fox With a Missing Echo

Chapter 7: Tracking the Fading Sound

Chapter 8: The Heart of the Hushed Forest

Chapter 9: The Rhythm Returns

Chapter 10: A Quail Worth Listening To

Quest the Quail Questions the Quiet Forest

By: Kelly Johnson

Chapter 1: The Whisper That Wasn’t There

The first pale light of dawn stretched softly across the Quiet Forest, brushing the treetops with a gentle gold and washing the forest floor in soft lavender and silver hues. Dew clung to every blade of grass, sparkling like tiny crystal beads, trembling whenever the faintest breeze stirred through the undergrowth. Cobwebs glistened with delicate droplets, their silken threads straining under the weight of morning dew. Normally, this was the hour when the forest came alive—a gentle symphony of creatures greeting the day, the air buzzing quietly with life.

Quest the quail blinked awake beneath the sheltering fronds of a fern, his tiny speckled feathers puffing slightly in the cool morning air. He stretched his wings, let out a soft peep, and tilted his head, listening for the familiar chorus that had always welcomed him at sunrise. The distant croak of frogs, the delicate hum of insects warming their wings in the early light, the rustle of squirrels scampering along the bark, and even the whisper of the wind weaving through the leaves—all these sounds had always painted a gentle, reassuring melody.

But today… nothing came.

Quest froze, feathers bristling. He listened again, holding his breath. Still nothing.

The silence wasn’t just quiet—it was heavy. It pressed against his tiny chest like a weight, filling every corner of the forest with an eerie stillness that made his heart beat faster. The usual morning scents—the earthy smell of damp moss, the sweet aroma of blooming flowers, the crisp scent of dew-covered leaves—were there, but without the familiar sounds, even the scents seemed muted, strange, and incomplete.

A gentle breeze stirred, bending the fronds above him, and the dewdrops quivered, catching the pale light like fragile jewels. Quest hopped forward cautiously, claws sinking slightly into the soft, wet soil. He peered around, eyes wide. The forest looked the same as ever—towering trees stretching skyward, thick ferns swaying gently, tangled roots winding across the ground—but something was undeniably wrong.

He let out another peep, higher and louder this time, hoping to hear some echo of life in return. A bird might answer, a squirrel might chatter, or a frog might croak. But the silence held fast, thick and unbroken.

Quest’s tiny heart began to flutter nervously. He had never experienced a morning like this, never encountered a forest so still. Even the river, which usually babbled and gurgled softly, seemed hesitant, flowing sluggishly as though it too had sensed the unnatural hush.

He took a hesitant step forward, claws pressing into the damp moss, ears swiveling for any hint of movement. But there was nothing—no chirp, no rustle, no whisper. Even the shadows seemed unusually still, stretching across the ground without the usual flutter of leaves overhead. It was a silence that felt alive, as if the forest itself were holding its breath, waiting for something… or warning of something.

Quest ruffled his feathers nervously and let out a long, trembling peep. This time, it seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, swallowed by the unnatural stillness. And in that instant, he realized: something was wrong. Not just unusual, not just quiet, but wrong.

The Quiet Forest, his home and sanctuary, had grown mysteriously silent—and for the first time in his life, Quest felt a pang of fear ripple through his small, brave heart.

Quest’s head tilted sharply to the side, his small crest twitching. This wasn’t just quiet. This was wrong.

He hopped forward, his tiny claws making soft prints in the cool earth. Usually, even his footsteps were drowned out by the gentle chorus of life around him. But today he heard every crunch of leaves, every shift of soil, every tiny sound he made. It made the silence feel even louder—thick, heavy, like a blanket pressing down.

“Hello?” Quest whispered, unsure why he felt the need to speak so softly. The forest should have answered. It always did. Maybe a murmuring breeze or a rustling nest or a distant echo of birds returning his call.

But there was nothing.

Quest felt a flutter in his chest—not quite fear, but not quite comfort either. Something had changed. And while Quest was a small bird, hardly the bravest or the strongest, he was the most curious. Curiosity lived in him like a spark that never dimmed, a spark that urged him to understand things others ignored.

He hopped toward the towering cedar at the edge of his sleeping nook. Its roots twisted like ancient snakes, and its bark always seemed warm, as though the forest’s heartbeat pulsed underneath. Quest pressed his wing to the trunk, hoping to feel the familiar vibration of life humming through it.

But it was still.

Perfectly still.

His round eyes widened.

Even the trees had gone quiet.

Suddenly, a single leaf drifted down from the canopy above. Quest watched it fall in a slow, spiraling dance. Normally, falling leaves whispered as they brushed against branches and swayed in the breeze. But this one made no sound—not a swish, not a rustle, nothing at all—as if it were falling through thick velvet instead of open air.

Quest shivered.

He had never known a silent leaf before.

He drew a deep breath, puffed out his little chest, and took a determined step forward. If the forest wouldn’t make a sound, then he would find out why.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely louder than the quiet around him. “And I’m going to figure it out.”

His tiny heart thumped with a mixture of worry and excitement. The Quiet Forest had always kept its secrets well—but Quest had always been the bird to ask questions others didn’t think to ask. And today, the forest’s silence was the biggest question of all.

He took one more step, then another, heading deeper into the still woods. Every twig beneath him snapped with a sound that felt too sharp in the heavy calm. Every rustle of his wings felt too loud in the empty air.

But he didn’t stop.

Because the Quiet Forest had lost its whisper—

and Quest was determined to find out where it had gone.

Chapter 2: Footsteps in the Stillness

Quest took a few careful steps forward, the silence pressing in from all sides like a thick blanket. The Quiet Forest had always lived up to its name, but it had never felt empty. Even in its calmest moments, there had always been a gentle presence—a hum, a rustle, a subtle reminder that life pulsed through every branch and burrow.

But not today.

Today, the woods felt as though someone had taken a deep breath… and forgotten to let it out.

Quest scanned the forest floor with wide, alert eyes, feathers twitching as he crouched low. The soil was soft and dark from the morning dew, each tiny depression and pebble visible in sharp relief against the moss and fallen leaves. Every stick, stone, and patch of flattened grass seemed to whisper a story to him—but he was looking for something specific: a disturbance, a hint that someone else had passed this way.

Minutes passed as he crept carefully, head bobbing and claws pressing gently into the earth. Then, something caught his attention—a set of faint tracks, pressed delicately into the moist soil. Quest’s amber eyes widened.

They weren’t quail tracks.

Nor rabbit, nor squirrel, nor fox.

They were longer and more oval, spaced unevenly as if the creature had been moving with caution, tiptoeing through the underbrush, or perhaps unsteady on unfamiliar ground. The tracks twisted slightly around roots and rocks, curving in ways that suggested careful observation, not reckless wandering.

Quest’s chest puffed slightly, a thrill running through him, mingling with unease. He crouched lower, peering closely at the prints. “Someone else felt the silence,” he whispered, feathers ruffling in a mix of curiosity and tension. “And they went to look too.”

He circled the first track, tilting his head from side to side, inspecting every groove and indentation. The edges of the prints were crisp, suggesting they were fresh—made not long before he had awakened beneath the fern frond. The soil around the tracks was slightly disturbed, faint scratches marking the edges where claws or nails had pressed lightly. Quest could almost sense the cautious intent of the creature that had passed through here, as if it, too, had been listening to the eerie hush of the forest and felt compelled to investigate.

His tiny heart fluttered. He wasn’t the only one unsettled by the unnatural quiet. Someone else had heard the silence, had been drawn to it, and had moved with care through the shadows and undergrowth. Perhaps, he thought, he wasn’t truly alone in his search after all.

Quest lowered his head even further, sniffing the faint scent of damp earth and moss that clung to the tracks. The fragrance was rich and alive—the unmistakable tang of soil after a morning rain, mixed with the subtle musk of a creature that had passed this way only moments before. His tiny nostrils flared as he took in the layered hints: a whisper of fur, a trace of feathers, the delicate scent of leaves crushed under careful paws or claws. His mind spun with possibilities. Could it be another quail, brave enough to wander far from home? Or perhaps a nimble squirrel, or a young fox, drawn by the same curiosity that had nudged him out of his nest this morning? Maybe it was something rarer, a creature that only appeared when the forest itself held its breath.

With careful, deliberate hops, Quest began following the trail, paw by paw, stepping softly so as not to disturb the delicate impressions. The tracks wove between mossy roots and fallen leaves, twisting around tree trunks as if the mysterious traveler had been both cautious and hurried. Each indentation told a story: the slight drag of a tail, the shift of weight as a small body paused to listen, the gentle press of claws on soft soil. Quest’s feathers fluffed with excitement; every detail was a clue, a secret left behind for someone keen enough to notice.