The stag called out over the lake, and Fintan bobbed to the surface, looking a little agitated.

‘So?’ said the salmon, ‘what’s your decision?’

‘Patience is a virtue, my friend,’ said Find.

‘I know,’ said Fintan, irritably, ‘and so is kindness and humility. I have eaten eight nuts of knowledge, you know!’

‘And you’ll have to make do with that,’ said Find. ‘Now go; swim out of this lake and spread your knowledge and wisdom.’

‘Finally!’ replied Fintan, and leapt with joy. ‘No more waiting!’ He swam round the lake, leaping up out of the water to say goodbye to each hazel tree. Then he headed out into the river, and with a final swish of his tail, he was gone.

Time passed. Find stayed in the Hazel grove to think about the meaning of these events.  He lay at the base of one of the nine Hazels, and was gazing at the sun’s reflection on the lake, when he felt something bounce onto his head and then to the ground. He looked down and discovered it was the shell of a Hazelnut.

Immediately, he knew this had been the ninth nut of knowledge. He rose to his feet and called up into the tree. A young mouse, trembling with fear, timidly made its way out onto a branch.

‘Did you drop that shell on my head?’ asked Find. The young mouse nodded silently.

‘And did you eat the nut that was inside the shell?’ he continued.

Again, the young mouse nodded without saying a word. At that moment, the young mouse’s father emerged from the hollow in the trunk. He gasped when he saw Find.

‘It appears your son has eaten the ninth nut of knowledge,’ said Find. ‘Such an important event carries with it enormous responsibility.’

The two mice exchanged nervous glances, then looked back at Find. The young one opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead an enormous yawn came out. Neither mouse knew what a yawn was, for until that moment, no mouse had ever felt tired, much less needed sleep. After all, there was always food to be gathered and homes to be maintained.

All that was about to change.

‘Your son,’ said Find to the father, ‘Will need to sleep for quite a while after that sort of meal. In fact, to call it sleep would be something of an understatement. I think ‘dormant’ would be a better word.’

‘Dormant?’ repeated the father, not quite grasping the meaning of the word, ‘My son’s going to be a dormant mouse?’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Find, allowing a soft chuckle to emerge, ‘A sort of Dorm-mouse, you might say.’

‘Oh,’ said the youngster, and with a final yawn, promptly fell asleep in his father’s arms.

‘When will this ‘dorm’ cease?’ asked the father, as he carried his son towards the hollow.

‘Your son will remain asleep for six moons. On the seventh moon, he will wake. Listen carefully to the words of wisdom he speaks at this time, for all that he utters will surely come to pass.’

Chapter Two

The prophet’s words are disbelieved;

The restless one shall make a fateful decision.

In the centre of things, one barren sleeper

Shall be strengthened by rumours of spring.

For six moons the parents of the first dormouse kept watch over their son, and on the first crescent of the seventh moon, they watched with tears of happiness as his little eyes blinked open.

He sat up in his bed, yawned, and stretched his limbs. Both parents gazed at him as he rubbed his eyes. The dormouse looked at them, blinking, trying to focus. He wore an expression of complete confusion. Then, a quiet voice in his head whispered to him. Do not fear, little one, it said, the nut has given you a wonderful gift. Let my voice of wisdom speak through you. The voice calmed the dormouse, and his senses became filled with the knowledge and understanding of Find. His parents saw that something had shifted in their son’s eyes. It was as if the night sky were alive in them. They listened closely for his first words, and then he said:

‘The tree that has been dormant will thrive again.

Its roots will slither & four branches will see the forest king’s mark.

Golden feathers will adorn its crown & the dray-dweller will move upon it.

After three moons, the giver of nostrums will reside over the spring.’

The dormouse let out a deep sigh, and the sparkle dimmed, his eyes returning almost to the way they were. He shook his head, and twitched his whiskers.

The parents looked at each other in confusion. Surely this was not their son speaking? How did he know such language, and more importantly, what did it all mean?

‘Are you okay, son?’

‘I think so, Papa,’ replied the dormouse. ‘That was strange!’

‘I don’t like it,’ said the dormouse’s mother, ‘I don’t like it at all!’

The young dormouse’s prophecy spread quickly to all the creatures that dwelt in The Great Woods. The rabbits, squirrels, beavers and rats laughed to hear that a mouse would dare to try and tell the future. Such gifts were not given to rodents. The bears, wolves, badgers and boars barely even listened to such rumours, as it was beneath them to do so. The lizards, snakes, frogs and toads blinked in surprise before dismissing such idle talk. Only the deer stopped to think a moment, as their kind were wiser than most.

The moon waxed and waned and life went on in The Great Woods, but in the grove of nine hazels, all was not well. The young dormouse was restless. He sat in deep thought, often refusing to eat, or paced the hollow, stopping now and again, a frown on his face. His parents became more worried with each passing day.

‘He’s too young for all this worry,’ exclaimed his mother. His father nodded in agreement. This wasn’t right.

As night approached, the parents of the first dormouse were sitting on the branch outside their hollow, hand in hand, watching the moon rise over the lake. Their son came out and sat down in front of them. The moon was full, and it framed his head like a halo.

‘Mama? Papa?’ he said, his whiskers twitching.

‘What is it, son?’ said his father. His mother knew what her son was about to say, and she’d been dreading it for days.

‘I have to go on a journey,’ he said, but his mind was in turmoil. Is this the right thing to do? Am I ready?

His mother began to weep, and his father comforted her, tears welling up in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ said the dormouse, ‘I don’t really want to go, but… I have to. It’s hard to explain. I just know that if I don’t go, something bad may happen.’

‘Is it to do with that strange voice thing?’ asked his father.

The dormouse nodded. ‘I think so.’ Then tears welled up in his eyes, and his mother held him close and gave him a hug.

‘It’s all that stag’s fault,’ she said, rubbing his back, ‘him and his bloomin’ nut knowledge!’

The dormouse laughed, and his little shoulders shook. Then, he wiped his eyes and stood up. He kissed both his parents and turned to leave.

‘You’re going now?’ asked his mother. ‘So soon?’

‘I can’t put it off any longer, Mama. I’m sorry.’

‘Wait just a moment, dear,’ she replied and hurried off into the hollow. Presently, she returned with a bundle in her hands. She handed it to her son, and he opened it eagerly.

‘It’s a cloak,’ said his mother, ‘I made it myself; it’s to keep you warm on cold nights.’

The dormouse put it on. It fitted him perfectly. It felt snug and reminded him of home comforts.

‘Thanks, Mama,’ he said, and gave her another kiss. ‘How did you know I’d need it?’

His mother winked at him. ‘A mother knows these things,’ she said.

He looked at his parents one final time and they saw in his sorrowful eyes that he would never return. He paused for a moment, a frown on his face; then a wave of calmness came over him again. He smiled, and his eyes lit up as if the sun had just come out from behind the clouds. He said: