Little Hearts: Tiny Filbert’s Party

In Honeyburrow, celebrations were usually noisy long before they began.

There would be ribbons tied to branches, tables carried into the sunshine, cakes cooling on windowsills and the Heart of Honeyburrow gently telling everyone not to eat the decorations before the guests arrived.

But on the morning of Tiny Filbert’s coming-of-age party, Honeyburrow felt strangely quiet.

Tiny Filbert stood beneath the great heart-shaped bough at the centre of the burrow gardens, holding the last of his invitations in both paws. He had folded each one himself into a tiny heart and asked Nettlewick from the Wickwood Post to deliver them all, across the Realm.

He had invited everyone.

The Wax Maker and Lady Dinkles from Wickwood Cottage.

Lady Marigold Brightwing (of course).
Sylas the Scribe from Serenvale.
Elric Tangletail, the apprentice wizard fox.
The Lady of the Lake.
Belle of Brackenbrook.
The Maid of the Meadow.
And as many friends from Honeyburrow as could fit around the table.

At first, Tiny Filbert had felt very brave.

Then the morning stretched on.

And no one came.

The raspberry ripple cakes sat untouched. The strawberries and cream were piled high in little bowls. Blueberry cheesecake bites waited beneath a cloth and a bright jug of fizzy mango sparkled in the sun as though it were trying its very best to be cheerful.

Tiny Filbert looked at the path. Then he looked at the table. Then he looked at his feet.

“Perhaps,” he whispered, “they forgot.”

The Heart of Honeyburrow, who was a gentle hare with kind eyes and a voice like warm honey, came to stand beside him.

“No one has forgotten you,” she said.

Tiny Filbert gave a small shrug.

“Perhaps they are busy.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“Perhaps they didn’t want to come.”

The Heart of Honeyburrow did not answer too quickly, because some worries are too tender to be brushed away.

Instead, she sat beside him beneath the great heart-shaped bough.

Now, in Honeyburrow, everyone knew the old saying: the heart glows brightest when the one standing beneath it feels most loved. But that morning, the great heart above them gave only the faintest shimmer.

Tiny Filbert noticed.  His ears drooped.

“I knew it,” he said softly.

Across the Realm, however, things were not quite as they seemed.

The Wax Maker and Lady Dinkles had set off early, which meant they were only a little bit late by Lady Dinkles’ standards. Unfortunately, the Wax Maker had insisted on bringing “one small useful box” of wax samples, which had become three bags, a basket and something wrapped in newspaper that made suspicious clinking sounds.

Sylas had been delayed because one of the invitations had been beautifully folded but had no date written on it and he felt this needed documenting.

Belle of Brackenbrook had stopped to help a family of beetles move a teacup.

The Lady of the Lake was travelling at what she called “a graceful pace.”

Elric Tangletail had attempted a shortcut spell, which had briefly turned his map into a sandwich.

And, of course, Lady Marigold Brightwing was not late at all, she had simply stopped to smell the roses that lined the path enroute to Honeyburrow.

So, while Tiny Filbert sat beneath the heart, believing himself forgotten, the paths to Honeyburrow were full of friends ‘hurrying’ towards him.

The first sound was a rustle.  Then a voice.

Then Lady Dinkles appeared at the gate, waving both arms and shouting, “We’re here! We’re here! Nobody start without us!”

The Wax Maker followed behind her, slightly out of breath and carrying far too many things.

Then came Belle, smiling warmly. Then Sylas, with a neatly written apology for lateness. Then the Maid of the Meadow with flowers in her arms and the Lady of the Lake shimmering softly in the afternoon light. 

Next Elric Tangletail, who landed in a puff of turquoise sparks, wearing part of his sandwich-map as a hat.

Last of all came Lady Marigold, carrying a rose in the shape of a heart, ready to decorate the table.

Tiny Filbert blinked.  “You came?”

Lady Dinkles looked horrified. “Of course we came.”

“We would not have missed it,” said Sylas.

“Not for all the blackberries in Brackenbrook,” said Belle.

Elric brushed crumbs from his sleeve. “I was only late because North became cheese.”

And then Tiny Filbert began to smile.

Not a big smile at first. Just a small one. The kind that begins quietly, as though it is not quite sure it is allowed.

But then everyone gathered around him. They admired the cakes. They poured the fizzy mango. They tied fresh ribbons where the old ones had slipped. Someone started music. Someone else began passing strawberries and cream around the table.

And beneath the great heart-shaped bough, something wonderful happened.

The heart began to glow.  Softly at first.  Then brighter.

Then brighter still, until the whole of Honeyburrow was lit with a warm golden light.

Tiny Filbert looked up.

The Heart of Honeyburrow placed a gentle paw on his shoulder.

“You see?” she said. “One little heart can hold an awful lot of love.”

Tiny Filbert looked around at the friends who had crossed woods, lakes, meadows and slightly confused magical shortcuts just to be there.

And at last, he understood.

Being loved did not always mean everyone arrived exactly when you hoped they would. Sometimes it meant they were still coming. Still trying. Still finding their way to you.

The party lasted until the lanterns were lit.

They ate raspberry ripple and blueberry cheesecake. They laughed over strawberries and cream. They raised cups of fizzy mango to Tiny Filbert, who blushed so much his ears went pink.

And when the stars came out above Honeyburrow Hollow, Tiny Filbert stood beneath the glowing heart, no longer wondering whether he mattered.

Because his friends had shown up.

And sometimes, that is all a little heart needs to remember how loved it truly is.