The little ghost peeked from behind the oak tree. A boy chased a red kite across the square. Whisp tried to rattle the fence — only a soft *shhh*. Then the wind howled, and something fell from the sky.
Whisp tiptoed over. A tiny brown bird lay in the damp grass, feathers plastered flat. The little ghost wrapped a dry leaf around it like a blanket. The bird chirped once and nuzzled in.
Whisp carried the leaf-wrapped bird through the squalling wind. Rain fell in sheets, but Whisp hummed a low wavy note. The raindrops stopped mid-air, hovering like silver beads.
At the elm, Whisp stacked stones and pinecones and balanced a hollow log. The bird hopped up, one step at a time. The parent bird landed, cooed, and nudged the baby inside the nest.
Whisp's leaf blanket drifted down, landing softly on a root. The little ghost watched the nest, then turned back toward the square.
The dry leaf settled on a gnarled root. Whisp walked back to the oak tree and stood a little straighter this time.
Back at the oak, Whisp stood taller. A little girl walked by and dropped her ice cream. It melted into a puddle. She looked very sad.
Whisp whispered, "Shhh." A breeze swirled the melted ice cream into a perfect circle. The girl gasped.
The girl giggled. Whisp smiled — just a little — and hid behind the oak tree. Only a little.
The little girl laughed and skipped away. Whisp watched her go, standing a little taller than before.
That evening, the boy's red kite hung in the oak tree again. Whisp touched the yellow tail with one fingertip. It trembled.
Whisp smiled. The village was quiet, and the forest breathed. The little ghost would come out again tomorrow.
