The Moura's Lost Comb

Read aloud, slowly and warmly. Stop often to let the children answer. There are no wrong answers here, only new ideas to try.

Read aloud, or let an older child read it themselves. Pause often so everyone can puzzle, wonder, and try ideas. There are no wrong answers here, only new paths to follow.

This morning the village square is full of worried voices. The Old Fountain has gone quiet. Its water sits still and grey, and nobody can fill their jugs.

You stand at the edge of the square. An old woman says, "The fountain is fed by the Enchanted Spring, up in the hills. Something has gone wrong up there. Will you go and see?"

You pick up your bag. You look at each other and nod. The path winds up into the green hills.

What is your hero name? Which one or two magics do you choose: Bloom, Truth, Starlight, Riversong, or Birdsong?

The morning you remember best began with worried voices in the village square. The Old Fountain, the mossy stone fountain that has run clear and sweet for as long as anyone can recall, had gone silent overnight. Its water sat grey and still, and a line of villagers stood about it with empty jugs, not knowing what to do.

An old woman in a shawl turned to you. "The fountain is fed by the Enchanted Spring, high in the hills," she said, "and the water only runs sweet while all is well up there. Something has gone wrong. You have brave hearts and quick minds. Will you climb up and find out?"

You shouldered your bag, glanced at one another, and set off. The path wound up out of the square and into the cool green hills, and the further you climbed the quieter the world became.

What is your hero name? Which one or two magics will you carry: Bloom, Truth, Starlight, Riversong, or Birdsong?

You climb until you reach a clear spring among mossy stones. Beside it sits a gentle maiden with long dark hair. This is the Moura Encantada. She looks sad and a little shy.

"My golden comb is gone," she says softly. "Without it I cannot wake the water, and the fountain in your village stays quiet. But I am too shy to go looking."

She will only talk to a calm, kind voice.

How do you put her at ease? Could you speak gently to the spring with Riversong? What kind thing could you say or do?

When the Moura trusts you, she smiles. "A shiny trail leads off into the ferns," she says. "Follow it, and please be gentle with whoever you find."

Near the top of the hills you found the spring: a clear pool ringed with mossy stones and ferns, the very heart of all the village's water. Beside it sat a serene maiden with long dark hair, her chin resting on her knees. This was the Moura Encantada, the gentle spirit of the spring, and she looked close to tears.

"My golden comb is gone," she told you, so softly you had to lean in. "It is the comb I draw through my hair to wake the water and keep it singing. Without it the spring sleeps, and your fountain down in the square stays quiet and grey. I would look for it myself, but I am too shy to leave the water, and too shy to face whoever took it."

She is wary of loud voices and grabbing hands. She will open up only to a calm, patient kindness.

How do you set the Moura at ease so she will trust you? Could Riversong let you speak softly to the spring on her behalf? What gentle words or small kindness might coax her story out?

When at last she trusted you, the Moura lifted her head and almost smiled. "There is a trail," she said, pointing to a faint glint among the ferns, "a line of shiny things, leading off down the hill. Follow it, and whatever you find at the end of it, please be gentle. Not everything that takes a shiny thing means any harm."

The trail leads to a shallow stream. To cross it you must step on the right stones. Each stone has a small carved mark: a leaf, a star, a wave, then a leaf, a star, and a gap where the next mark should be.

A little voice in the water hums, "Leaf, star, wave, leaf, star, and then?"

What mark comes next in the pattern? Which stone do you step on?

When you step on the wave stone, the water steadies and lets you across. On the far bank, the shiny trail leads under a little stone bridge.

The shimmering trail led you to a shallow stream, too wide to jump. The only way across was a winding line of old stepping stones, each one carved with a small worn symbol. You read them aloud as you went: a leaf, a star, a wave, then a leaf again, a star again, and then a stone whose mark had crumbled away, with deeper water on either side.

From under the surface a small watery voice hummed the same little tune over and over: "Leaf, star, wave, leaf, star, and then?"

Look at the pattern the carvings make. Which symbol must the crumbled stone be? Work out the next mark in the sequence, and that is the safe stone to step on.

The moment you chose the wave stone, the stream stilled and let you pass dry-shod. On the far bank the shiny trail gathered itself and ran on, straight under the mossy arch of a little stone bridge.

Under the bridge is a cosy nook full of bright, shiny things. In the middle sits a small goblin in a red cap, the Trasgo, playing happily with the golden comb. He grins at you.

"I found it. It is shiny. It is mine now," he says, holding it tight. He is not mean. He just loves shiny things and a good game, and he is a little lonely down here.

How do you make friends with the Trasgo? Could you offer a swap, a riddle, or a game? What would a playful goblin like?

When you trade something he loves, or win his game, the Trasgo laughs and hands over the comb. "Come and visit me again," he says. "It is quiet under here."

Beneath the bridge you found a snug, mossy nook, and it glittered. Every ledge was crowded with shiny odds and ends: a brass button, a chip of mirror, a curl of ribbon. In the middle of it all sat a small goblin in a bright red cap, the Trasgo, turning the golden comb over and over in his hands and humming to himself.

He grinned when he saw you, but his fingers tightened on the comb. "I found it fair and square. It is the shiniest thing I ever found, and it is mine now." He was not wicked, only playful and proud, and, you slowly realised, rather lonely under his quiet bridge. What he loved most in the world was a game, a riddle, or a fair swap.

How do you win the Trasgo over? He will not be scolded or grabbed, but a clever trade, a riddle, or a game he can enjoy might change his mind. What would delight a playful, lonely goblin enough to part with his treasure?

When you offered him something he loved just as much, or beat him at his own riddle, the Trasgo threw back his head and laughed and pressed the comb into your hands. "A good game," he admitted. "Come back and play sometime. It gets quiet, down here under the bridge, with nobody to swap with."

You carry the golden comb back up to the spring. The Moura Encantada is waiting. Very carefully, you place the comb in her hands.

She draws it once through her long hair. The water lights up clear and bright and lifts in a gentle, glowing arc.

How do you give the comb back kindly? What do you say to the Moura?

"Thank you," she says. "You were gentle, and you made a friend instead of an enemy. The water will sing again."

You carried the golden comb back up the hill, cradling it like a fledgling. The Moura Encantada was waiting at the water's edge, and her eyes went wide and bright when she saw what you held. You knelt and, very gently, laid the comb across her open hands.

She drew it once through her long dark hair. At the very first stroke the spring woke: the water lit clear and bright and rose in a slow, glowing arc that hung in the air like a held breath, then fell back singing.

How do you return the comb so the moment stays kind and calm? What do you say to the Moura now that her spring is hers again?

"Thank you," she said, and now she truly smiled. "You were gentle when you might have been rough, and you made a friend of the Trasgo when you might have made an enemy. That is why the water trusts you. Now go, and listen for it."

You hurry back down to the village. The Old Fountain is bubbling clear and bright, and the water almost sings. Children laugh and fill their jugs. The Moura sends a cool, sweet blessing down with the water.

You did it together. You were kind, and you were full of ideas. Well done.

You ran back down the winding path, and you heard the square before you saw it: a bright, bubbling, splashing sound, and under it something almost like a song. The Old Fountain was clear and full again, water dancing up into the sunlight while children laughed and dipped their jugs and the whole village crowded round.

Cool and sweet, the Moura's blessing came down with the water, the way it had for a hundred years and would for a hundred more.

You did it together. You were kind when it was easier to be quick, and you were full of ideas when one idea was not enough. Well done.