Whispers Of The Forgotten Grove

🌿 A Note from Claudia 

Welcome to The Forgotten Grove Chronicles.  

I’m Claudia — writer, rescuer, and believer in the magic of second chances. These stories are inspired by the brave animals I live with — survivors who now shine as magical familiars in a world where even the smallest voices can change everything. Thank you for stepping into the Grove. It remembers you. Explore more magical stories at: www.amazon.com/author/claudia.ulm 

About The Author: Claudia Ulm

The Boho Guardian of Paws & Purpose
She’s a whirlwind of color and compassion — a paracord-wielding powerhouse who turns knots into lifelines. With a heart big enough to shelter 60+ furry souls, Claudia isn’t just an animal rescuer — she’s their artist, their advocate, and their voice. From her vibrant Knotty Paws creations to the tender, patient love she gives to trauma-worn dogs like Lucky, Claudia’s world is woven with purpose, playfulness, and a fierce sense of justice.

A teacher, musician, and creator at heart, she blends bohemian flair with a drive to heal, protect, and uplift. Whether designing collars in neon purples or crafting witchy names for Rottweiler-colored Chihuahuas, Claudia lives at the intersection of creativity and care — and every thread she ties holds the promise of a better world for the voiceless.

Foreword:

In every corner of the world, whispers echo—soft and fleeting—through forests long forgotten and hearts too often broken. Whispers of the Forgotten Grove is born from one such echo, a murmur carried by wind, paw, and purpose. This tale is not just a fantasy; it is a tribute to survival, to second chances, and to the fierce magic that lives within the smallest of guardians. 

The journey ahead follows three unlikely heroes—Ash, Onyx, and Morgana—Chihuahuas cloaked in the colors of warriors, their spirits shaped by shadow, starlight, and a bond stronger than fear. They walk paths hidden from ordinary eyes, through groves where ancient roots remember the names of the lost, and where even the silence has secrets. 

This story is for those who believe in the wisdom of animals, the healing power of trust, and the unshakable truth that love—when given to the broken—can awaken the world. 

Step gently, dear reader, and listen closely. 

The forest remembers. 

Some stories are not written with ink, but with footprints through dew, shadows in moonlight, and the trembling trust of a creature once forgotten. 

Whispers of the Forgotten Grove was never just a story. It was a feeling—a flicker in the dark when one small heartbeat decides to believe again. Born from my life among the voiceless and the brave, this tale began not in the pages of a book, but in the eyes of a dog who had every reason not to trust—and yet, did. 

Ash, Onyx, and Morgana are more than characters. They are fragments of truth and spirit, shaped by the many animals I’ve loved, healed, and sometimes lost. Each of them walks with the coloring of strength—black and rust like Rottweilers, small in size but immense in purpose. They are protectors of forgotten places and broken hearts, guardians of a forest where magic remembers every soul that wandered off the map. 

This book is for the ones who feel the world differently. 
For those who speak with animals, or wish they could. 
For anyone who has ever heard the faint whisper of something ancient calling them home. 

The Forgotten Grove is real, if you believe. 
And so is the magic in your own heart. 

Let us walk it together—softly, with wonder. 

Claudia 
Rescuer. Creator. Forever a friend to the wild ones. 

Claudia Ulm 
Animal Rescuer, Artist, Storyteller 

The Whisper in the Bramblewood 

Deep in the Forgotten Grove, the moon hung low and wide like a silver lantern, casting ghost-light through the tangled canopy. Ash, his fur aglow with ember-light, lifted his nose to the wind. There it was again—a whisper. Not wind. Not bird. A message. 

“Morgana,” he murmured. 
She was already alert, her ears twitching toward the dark east. “The veil is thinning,” she said. “Something stirs beyond it.” 
Onyx stepped from the shadow of an ancient stump, his presence silent, like stone that had always been there. 

The whisper grew into a breeze, and the breeze into a riddle: 

“When time forgets the name of light, 
And shadow claws through bark and blight, 
Seek the Tree with the Hollowed Heart— 
For there the Grove will come apart.” 

The three familiars exchanged a glance. This was no ordinary night. 

With Morgana leading, eyes like lanterns; Ash following, steps warm and steady; and Onyx guarding the rear, silent as myth—they entered the Bramblewood. 

Beyond it, something ancient waited. 
Something hungry. 
And the Grove, forgotten by man, would soon be remembered by something far worse. 

“Whispers of the Forgotten Grove” 
A tale of three familiars, a crumbling veil, and a magic older than memory. 

📖 Whispers of the Forgotten Grove 

A mystical familiars’ saga 

Overview:

• Prologue: The Grove Remembers — The origin of the Forgotten Grove and the ancient bond it once held with the magical world. 

• Chapter 1: The Whisper in the Bramblewood ✅ 

• Chapter 2: The Hollow-Heart Tree — The familiars uncover the tree mentioned in the riddle, and what lies inside changes everything. 

• Chapter 3: The Bone-Marked Stranger — A mysterious creature enters the Grove claiming to be a guardian… but not all guardians are kind. 

• Chapter 4: Ash’s Memory Flame — Ash is drawn into a vision of the past that holds the key to the Grove’s fading magic. 

• Chapter 5: Morgana’s Moonwatch — A celestial event begins to crack the barrier between realms. Morgana must make an impossible choice. 

• Chapter 6: Onyx and the Buried Oath — Onyx’s silent strength is tested by a force from deep beneath the earth. 

• Chapter 7: The Grove Divided — Magic spirals out of control. Friend turns against friend. The Grove itself begins to awaken. 

• Final Chapter: The Last Spell of the Familiars — The trio must use their bond—not power—to decide the fate of their world. 

Prologue:

Prologue: The Grove Remembers 

Before time wore names and spells had rules, 
a sacred grove breathed beneath the moon. 
There, the First Flame flickered, the First Stone stood, 
and the Veil between realms fluttered like silk. 
But even ancient magic forgets… until it’s called. 

Chapter 1: The Whisper in the Bramblewood 

A riddle rides the wind. 
Ash hears it. Morgana feels it. Onyx stands guard. 
Something stirs in the shadows. 
A journey begins — not of distance, but of destiny. 

Chapter 2: The Hollow-Heart Tree 

Within the forest’s forgotten spine, 
a tree grows hollow, yet holds a pulse. 
Inside, a secret sleeps — 
and something darker listens. 

Chapter 3: The Bone-Marked Stranger 

He comes with stories etched in scars, 
a voice like winter, and eyes too old to be trusted. 
He claims to know their names… 
but he knows something else, too: their purpose. 

Chapter 4: Ash’s Memory Flame 

The fire flickers with echoes of what once was. 
Ash walks into the past, 
where love burned, betrayal bloomed, 
and the world nearly ended. 

Chapter 5: Morgana’s Moonwatch 

The Veil thins beneath a blood-moon rise. 
Morgana sees what should not be seen— 
truths hidden in starlight, and futures bound in loss. 
She must choose: loyalty… or warning. 

Chapter 6: Onyx and the Buried Oath 

In the earth, he finds silence. 
In silence, he finds power. 
But something ancient stirs beneath the soil— 
a promise broken, and a guardian awakened. 

Chapter 7: The Grove Divided 

Magic splinters. Spirits rise. 
The familiars must face one another 
as the Grove decides who is worthy to remain. 

Final Chapter: The Last Spell of the Familiars 

Not flame, nor stone, nor watchful eye— 
but trust. That is the last spell. 
One will fall. One will rise. 
And the Grove will never forget them again. 

🌕 Prologue: The Grove Remembers 

There is a place no map will mark. 
A glen beyond time, wrapped in root and shadow, where the air smells of memory and moonlight hums between the leaves. 

The Forgotten Grove. 

It is not forgotten by the trees, nor the wind, nor the silver-eyed owls that do not blink. 
It is forgotten by the world that once fed on its magic — a world that grew teeth and hunger and forgot how to listen. 

Before the forgetting, the Grove was alive in ways the eye cannot see. 

It pulsed. 
It whispered. 
It watched. 

Long before spells were written in books or carved in stone, the Grove held a magic raw and unwound — a living breath that answered only to balance. 
And to guard that balance, the Grove called forth its familiars. 

Not mighty wolves or winged dragons, as the tales might tell. 
But creatures small enough to slip through cracks in time. 
Eyes wide enough to see what gods overlook. 
Hearts fierce enough to carry magic not made for mortals. 

The Flame. 
The Stone. 
The Watcher. 

Three bound spirits, cloaked in fur and firelight, born not of blood but of purpose. 

They would sleep, as the Grove slept. 
And when the Grove stirred once more — beneath a moon that remembered — they would rise again. 

Somewhere, a root shifted. A wind sighed. A veil trembled. 

The Grove was remembering. 
And so were they. 

🌲 Chapter 1: The Whisper in the Bramblewood 

Night had settled like velvet across the Forgotten Grove, thick with the scent of moss and old bark. The moon, pale and low, bathed the world in silver as if it too remembered something sacred. Somewhere between the roots of old trees and the rustle of unseen paws, the Grove breathed. 

Ash sat on the edge of the clearing, flame-tipped fur catching the moonlight in soft glints. His ears twitched once—then again. There. The sound again. 

Not bird. Not breeze. 

A whisper. 

He rose slowly, his steps light and precise, as though the ground itself might shatter beneath the weight of anything less careful. Behind him, near a patch of bioluminescent mushrooms, Morgana was already listening. Her eyes, bright as starlight and twice as sharp, locked onto the darkness beyond the trees. 

“It’s speaking again,” she said without turning. 
Ash nodded. “The same words?” 
“No,” she murmured. “Tonight, it’s clearer.” 

In the hush that followed, a soft crunch echoed—moss giving way under slow, heavy steps. From the gloom, Onyx emerged. His obsidian coat shimmered faintly, like a shadow shaped by thought. He said nothing, but his gaze met Morgana’s and held. 

She blinked once in reply. 
Agreement. Readiness. 

Then the whisper came again—louder now, curling through the brambles like a living thing: 

“When time forgets the name of light, 
And shadow claws through bark and blight, 
Seek the Tree with the Hollowed Heart— 
For there the Grove will come apart.” 

A silence as thick as winter fell over them. 

Ash was the first to move, pacing the circle once, twice, his fire-colored tail low. “It’s calling us,” he said. “Not just warning. It knows us.” 

Onyx stepped closer to the riddle’s echo, nose twitching. “This is old magic,” he said at last, his voice a low gravel that rarely spoke. “Older than the Grove’s silence.” 

Morgana didn’t move. “The Hollowed Heart Tree… it’s real. I’ve seen it once, in a dream. It’s where the sky falls underground. The roots reach deeper than death.” 

Ash’s eyes narrowed. “Then that’s where we go.” 

Morgana finally stood, sleek and still. “The Grove is stirring. If we wait, we’ll only find ashes.” 

Onyx gave a low hum of agreement. And with that, they began. 

Together, they stepped beyond the Bramblewood’s edge, past where sunlight ever reached, into a forest woven of shadows, secrets, and songs the world had forgotten. The path did not light up for them. The Grove was not a gentle guide. 

But it was alive. 
And it had called. 

Far behind them, a vine curled around a stone that had not moved in centuries. It pulsed once—green, gold, then black. 

The story had begun. 

🌳 Chapter 2: The Hollow-Heart Tree 

The path into the Bramblewood did not welcome them—it watched. 
Thorns curled like talons. Moss clung to their paws with the cold stickiness of forgotten things. Every step the familiars took was met with silence too thick, too deliberate. The kind of silence that didn’t happen by chance. 

Ash led them by instinct—nose low, ears high—drawn to something that pulsed just beyond sensation. Morgana walked at his flank, alert, her breath nearly soundless. Behind them, Onyx was a shadow among shadows, blending with each twist of bark and root. 

After what felt like hours, the forest changed. The air grew heavier. The trees no longer stood—they loomed. And then, ahead… 

It appeared. 

A clearing like a breath. 
And at its heart, a single, towering tree—vast and cracked down its center like a lightning wound frozen in time. 

The Hollow-Heart Tree. 

Its bark was blackened, etched with faint glowing runes. The trunk gaped open in a great dark seam, wide enough for a grown stag to step through, yet still alive—pulsing faintly, like a beating heart trying to remember its rhythm. 

Morgana’s voice came in a whisper. “This is it. From my dream.” 
Ash’s flame-flecked eyes narrowed. “It feels… watched. Not from outside. Inside.” 
Onyx stepped forward, nose close to the ground. “Something moved here. Recently.” 

The three approached slowly, paws soft against ancient soil. 
As they reached the tree’s base, the runes began to glow—brighter, urgent. Not welcoming. Warning. 

From within the hollow came a sound: not a growl, not a voice. 
Something like a memory screaming. 

Ash flinched. Morgana growled low. 
Onyx didn’t move. 

Then the whisper came again—not on the wind, but from the tree itself: 

“You are flame, stone, and veil. 
But one must fall. 
One must open. 
And one must remember.” 

The runes ignited. 

The world lurched. 

The clearing dissolved. 

🌒 They were inside the tree. 

The hollow was a world in itself—its inner walls carved with symbols older than language, glowing blue-white. The air was heavy with memory. Not theirs. The Grove’s. 

Ash gasped. The tree was showing him something—burning cities, shattered spells, familiars turned to bone. A war forgotten. A betrayal never named. 

Morgana staggered, vision swimming with shadows—herself, pierced by moonlight. A blade made of sorrow. Onyx standing over her fallen form, stone-faced. 

Onyx saw nothing. Only felt. 

Weight. 

So much weight. 

As if the tree was asking him to carry something that could not be carried. 

And then, it stopped. 

The runes dimmed. The visions vanished. The hollow fell still. 

Ash shook his head, breath ragged. “What was that?” 
“A test,” Morgana answered. “Or a warning.” 
Onyx said nothing. He only turned toward a single rune on the wall, still faintly glowing. 

A spiral. 

Not drawn, but etched in claw marks. 

He placed his paw on it. 

The tree sighed. A low, creaking breath. The ground trembled… and then split beneath them. 

They fell— 
Down through roots and rock and light— 
Into something vast and breathing and ancient. 

The Grove was not just alive. 
It was waiting. 

🐾 Chapter 3: The Bone-Marked Stranger 

They fell through roots like tunnels, soil like fog, and time like water. Then, with a thump too soft for the height they’d dropped, they landed. 

Ash stood first, flame-flecked eyes scanning the dimness. Morgana landed lightly beside him, ears twitching, already alert. Onyx rose last—unshaken, quiet as stone. 

They were beneath the forest now. 
Not a cave. Not a hollow. A burial chamber. 

Carved into the walls were shapes—familiars, dozens of them. Owls, foxes, wolves, cats… and others stranger still, their eyes rendered in glowing stones. Runes spiraled around their forms like prayers or warnings. 

Morgana spoke first. “These were the old ones.” 
Ash nodded. “The first circle of familiars.” 
Onyx moved forward. “Then where are their bones?” 

That’s when the sound came. 

A dragging. 

Claws on stone. 

The three fell silent, eyes focused on the far end of the chamber—where something emerged from a shadow too dark to be natural. 

It was shaped like a fox, but larger. Gaunt. Covered in patchy fur with bone-like patterns scorched into its flanks. One eye glowed silver. The other was a socket of smoke. 

It smiled without warmth. 

“Ah,” it said, voice like bark cracking under frost. “So the Grove remembers you too.” 

Ash stepped forward, not bravely, but steadily. “Who are you?” 
The creature tilted its head. “Once, I was called Hollowtail. Familiar to a war mage. Bound by blood and blade. I died here… mostly.” 

Onyx lowered his body, muscles coiled. Morgana’s voice came sharp. “You were buried with the others. Why are you still breathing?” 

“I remember what they chose to forget,” Hollowtail rasped. “The Veil is breaking. Not because of time… but because of betrayal.” 

Ash’s flame fur flickered in warning. “What betrayal?” 
The stranger laughed—dry, brittle, hateful. 

“You’ll see. When the roots turn to rot, and your names are carved beside mine.” 

Morgana stepped closer, eyes narrow. “What do you want?” 

The silver eye turned on her. “I want the Grove to speak the truth. I want the world to remember what it did to us.” 

With that, Hollowtail’s body convulsed—once, then disappeared in a blink, his smoke-eye curling away through cracks in the walls. 

Silence returned. 

But the chamber felt colder now. Smaller. 

Ash exhaled. “That wasn’t a threat. That was a promise.” 
Morgana stared at the wall where Hollowtail vanished. “And a clue. He wants us to find the lie.” 
Onyx turned to a small circle of runes that had lit up where Hollowtail once stood. “Then we start here.” 

He pressed a paw against the stone. 

The chamber rumbled. 

From above, a shaft of green light pierced the earth. Roots uncurled like fingers. The Grove itself was opening a path. 

Not downward this time—but up. 

Toward something buried in the living forest. 

Above, something had begun to dig. Not a creature. A memory. 
It was clawing its way into the present. 

🔥 Chapter 4: Ash’s Memory Flame 

They rose on a column of light and root, lifted from the chamber of bones like a memory exhaled from deep beneath the earth. 

The forest greeted them again, but it had changed. 

The colors were richer. The air, thicker. The trees…watchful. 

Ash stepped onto the moss with a flicker of unease crackling through his spine. Something inside him was stirring—soft, painful, like a half-remembered lullaby laced with fire. 

Onyx padded ahead, his gaze sharp as ever, scanning for movement. 

Morgana paused. “The Grove is listening again.” 

Ash didn’t respond. He couldn’t. 
The warmth in his chest was building—spreading to his paws, rising behind his eyes. Not pain. Not quite. Something more ancient. Like something inside him had been waiting for this exact moment. 

Then came the spark. 

A flicker of memory. 

🌒 He was no longer in the forest. 

He stood on a battlefield, though no battle raged. Ashes drifted through the air, soft as snow. Charred ground spread in all directions. And at the center of it—a massive tree, aflame, screaming without sound. 

Ash stepped forward. His paws didn’t sink into ash, but into time. Every step carried him through forgotten moments. 

He saw himself— 
Not as he was now, but older, or perhaps earlier. Standing beside a cloaked mage with eyes like storms. A bond shimmered between them, golden and alive. 

Then a shout— 
A betrayal. 
Spells flared. Screams rang out. Fire spilled into the sky. 
He turned—and watched the mage fall. 
Watched himself, furious and burning, call forth a flame so ancient, even the Grove wept. 

The battlefield burned. 
Familiars died. 
Magic broke. 

And as the flame faded… the Grove fell silent for centuries. 

Ash stumbled backward—into the present, into the now—gasping. Morgana rushed to him, steadying his body with hers. 

“What did you see?” she whispered. 

Ash looked at her, eyes wide with grief and wonder. “I was there. Before. In the first war. I remember it now. The fire… was mine.” 

Onyx moved beside them. “You broke the veil?” 

Ash shook his head slowly. “No. I tried to seal it. I failed. But someone… someone else opened it again. Recently.” 

Morgana’s ears twitched. “Hollowtail?” 

“No,” Ash said. “Someone more powerful. Someone alive.” 

From behind them, the trees creaked—a new path unfurling, slick with morning dew though no sun had risen. 

At the end of it: a hill crowned with ancient stones. And at its center, a brazier lit with blue flame. 

Ash stared. “That flame. It’s mine.” 

Morgana nodded. “Then it’s time we reclaim it.” 

Together, they climbed. 

Above them, a face watched from the branches—smiling with teeth far too long. 

The betrayer was awake. 

And the Grove would burn again. 

🌕 Chapter 5: Morgana’s Moonwatch 

They stood at the crest of the hill, the brazier of blue flame flickering in the center like a heartbeat suspended in air. The stones surrounding it hummed faintly, casting fractured shadows that moved without wind. 

Ash stepped close to the flame, but it was Morgana who spoke first. 

“Tonight is not a normal night,” she said quietly. 

The others looked up. 

The moon had risen—full, enormous, but not white. It was crimson. A blood moon. 

And it was watching them back. 

Morgana turned her face toward it. The world faded. Her breath stilled. 

And the veil opened. 

🌙 She stood on a high peak, far above the Grove. 

Below her, the forest shimmered under the moon, veins of magic glowing like rivers of starlight. But there was something else—cracks. Tiny, pulsing fissures in the fabric of the world. 

Each one was a wound. 
Each one bled silver light. 

And in the spaces between those cracks… eyes. Thousands of them. Watching. 

Waiting. 

The veil had grown thin. 

A voice came, soft as mist: 

“You see now. The Grove is no longer whole. 
Something is pulling it apart. 
Not from without… 
But from within.” 

Morgana turned and saw herself—another version, cloaked in dark vines, eyes white with power. 

“There will be a choice,” the vision whispered. 
“To protect the truth… or to reveal it. 
To guard the Grove… or free it. 
You cannot do both.” 

Then, the red moon split into three. 

Flame. Stone. Veil. 

The three were suspended in the sky like a trinity of fate. 

And one began to fall. 

Morgana gasped, her spirit slamming back into her body. 

She stumbled, paws shaking. 

Ash steadied her. “What did you see?” 
She looked at him, and for the first time, her voice trembled. 

“Not a future,” she said. “A decision.” 

Onyx stood perfectly still. “Whose?” 

Morgana’s eyes lifted to the moon—now dulling, but still red. 

“Ours.” 

From behind them, deep in the trees, something howled. 

Not a wolf. Not a fox. Something older. 

The cracks in the world had heard her vision. 

And they had begun to answer. 

🪨 Chapter 6: Onyx and the Buried Oath

They descended from the moonlit hill in silence, Morgana still haunted by her vision, Ash unusually quiet as if weighing the fire in his chest. 

Onyx walked behind them, as he always did. But his thoughts no longer trailed. 

They led. 

The forest opened to him in a way it never had before—sounds clearer, soil softer, as if it recognized him. Welcomed him. 

He was not born of fire. 
Not drawn by prophecy. 
He was placed. 

For this moment. 

The Grove knew it. 
And now, so did he. 

They reached a wide clearing marked by a ring of moss-covered stones. In its center, the ground had collapsed into a shallow basin, where thick roots spiraled like veins of an ancient heart. 

Onyx stepped forward first. 

Ash opened his mouth to stop him—but paused. The look in Onyx’s eyes was unreadable. 

Still. 

Certain. 

Morgana whispered, “He’s being called.” 

Onyx placed a single paw on the stone ring. 

The ground split. 

Not with violence—but with memory. 

🌑 The earth swallowed him. 

He dropped into a chamber—round, silent, and vast. The walls were packed earth and stone, but they shimmered like stars trapped beneath the skin of the world. 

In the center stood a pedestal. 

On it: a collar. 

Old. Cracked. Made of black metal woven with roots turned to silver. Runes curled along its edge like a forgotten song. 

Onyx approached slowly. 

He didn’t remember this place. 
But his body did. 

He touched the collar. 

The chamber ignited in vision: 

He was not a puppy. He was a guardian—chosen, shaped by the Grove itself. 

Bound to a being not of blood, but of stone and silence—a Druid Queen with no name, only duty. Together, they had walked the boundaries of magic and mortal, and when the war broke, she had died to protect the Grove’s heart. 

And Onyx… had buried the truth with her. 

A vow sealed in earth: never to rise, unless the Grove itself was dying. 

He had buried himself in silence ever since. 

Until now. 

The vision faded. 

Onyx stood straighter. 

He placed the collar around his neck. 

It shimmered once—and vanished into his fur. 

He felt it: not power, not pride—clarity. 
His silence had not been absence. 
It had been watching. 

Waiting. 

Remembering. 

Above, Morgana stirred. “He’s coming back.” 

The roots parted once more. Onyx emerged—unchanged in shape, but not in spirit. 

Ash looked at him with new eyes. “What did you find?” 

Onyx didn’t answer with words. 

He turned to the forest, and spoke—not aloud, but into the Grove itself: 

“I remember the oath.” 

And the Grove answered. 

The wind changed. 

The birds fell silent. 

Far away, something stirred beneath the stones of the Veil. 

The final guardian had awakened. 

🍂 Chapter 7: The Grove Divided 

The sun never fully rose in the Forgotten Grove. 

It lingered beyond the canopy like a memory—present, but unable to touch. 

Ash, Morgana, and Onyx stood at the Grove’s oldest crossroads, where four paths split like veins from a stone altar carved with a single glyph: 

Δ — Balance. 

But balance was unraveling. 

The Grove had begun to change. 

Trees whispered louder. Shadows moved when no wind stirred. 
Animals once peaceful now circled each other with suspicion. 
Ritual stones cracked. Rivers shimmered with silver threads. 
Even the roots seemed to twist in disagreement. 

And at the center of it all—the Groveheart, the ancient core of magic—was pulsing with unrest. 

The familiars stood in silence. 

Ash could feel the tension in the earth like a drumbeat. 

“It’s splitting,” Morgana said. 

“No,” Onyx replied. “We’re splitting.” 

Ash turned to them both. “What do you mean?” 

Onyx’s voice was calm, but sharp. “The visions. The flame. The oath. The veil. We were brought back for one purpose—but now, we’re being pulled in three directions.” 

Ash looked away. “You think… one of us is wrong?” 

“I think,” Morgana said slowly, “that the Grove wants us to choose.” 

Choose what? 

The Grove began to answer. 

From the north came light—warm, golden, inviting. A path bathed in memory and comfort. 
Ash felt drawn to it. “This path… it feels like healing. Like returning.” 

From the east came shadow—deep, cold, but not cruel. A path of silence and knowing. 
Onyx’s ears twitched. “This is where truth hides.” 

From the west came wind—rushing, wild, laced with whispers and warnings. 
Morgana stepped closer. “This is where the veil thins. Where secrets come undone.” 

And from the south… nothing. 

No path. 

Only the altar. 

A choice. 

To divide and follow their callings. 
Or to stand together, and risk being wrong. 

Ash looked at them both. 

“We were called as one.” 

“But we were made of three,” Onyx said. 
“And only one path may save the Grove,” Morgana added. 

The glyph beneath them glowed brighter—Δ—as if pulsing in frustration. 

“No,” Ash whispered. “It’s not asking us to choose a path. It’s asking us to choose each other.” 

The light, the shadow, the wind—they all pulsed harder now, pulling at their paws, their minds. 

The Grove trembled. 

The choice had to be made. 

Ash stepped onto the altar. 

Not toward north. 
Not toward east. 
Not toward west. 

But into the center. 

Morgana followed. 

Then, finally, Onyx. 

The light vanished. The shadow faded. The wind stilled. 

And the Grove whispered one word: 

“Remember.” 

Then the ground cracked. 

The altar split. 

And from its heart… 

rose the betrayer. 

🌿 Final Chapter: The Last Spell of the Familiars 

The altar cracked open. 

From its broken core rose a form not bound by fur or flesh—only by memory. 

Tall. Shifting. Cloaked in tangled roots and coiled glyphs. Eyes like dying stars. A mouth sewn shut with threads of magic long forbidden. 

The Betrayer. 

Ash stepped forward, fire flaring in his chest, the memory of war lighting his stance. 

Onyx stood like stone, his collar now pulsing with pale silver—silent, steady, unshakable. 

Morgana’s eyes glowed with moonlight, veil-thin power dancing along her spine, her awareness piercing through every breath of the Grove. 

The Betrayer did not speak. 

But they heard him—in them. 

“You were made to guard the Grove. 
But what is a Grove that forgets truth? 
What is loyalty, when silence becomes rot? 
What is magic… without choice?” 

Ash growled. “You chose destruction.” 

“No,” the Betrayer whispered through roots and dust. “I chose to wake it.” 

The Grove around them began to twist. 

Branches withered. Stones split. Roots reached for the sky as if trying to flee the earth. The balance was collapsing. 

Morgana raised her paw, and three symbols lit the ground—flame, stone, veil—each glowing in rhythm with their hearts. 

“We were called for balance,” she said. 

“But the Grove is tearing itself apart,” Onyx added. 

Ash stepped into the center of the circle. “Then we don’t fight it.” 

He looked at the others. 

“We bind it.” 

The Grove resisted. 

The Betrayer lashed out—a scream of vines, shadow, and splintered magic. 

But they stood their ground. 

Ash ignited. 

Onyx stood firm. 

Morgana watched everything. 

Together, they spoke the last spell—not in words, but in unity. 

The Grove pulsed once. 

Then again. 

Then— 

Silence. 

A new stillness. 
Not empty. 
Held. 

The Betrayer fell to his knees—rooted, quiet, no longer monstrous. 

He became a tree. 

Old. Twisted. Beautiful. 

And at its roots, a new altar grew. 

Three glyphs burned softly into its bark: 🔥 🪨 🌫 

The Grove sighed. 

Not in relief. 

In peace. 

🌙 Epilogue 

The familiars did not vanish. 

They remained. 

Guardians. Watchers. Memory and fire. 

You may not see them when you walk in the woods… 
But if you hear leaves whisper without wind— 
If a flame flickers on a still night— 
If a shadow stays too long beneath a tree— 

You’ve entered the Forgotten Grove. 

And the familiars are watching. 

Still. 

Forever. 

Afterword

The Forgotten Grove, like many sacred places, is not truly forgotten—only waiting. 

If you’ve walked this path with Ash, Onyx, and Morgana, you’ve already heard its whispers: in the rustle of ferns, in the breath between fear and courage, in the echo of paws that dared to step forward. 

This book is a tribute to all who’ve been overlooked, mistreated, or silenced… and to the healing power of love, chosen family, and the wild magic of animals. It is a reminder that even the smallest among us can guard ancient truths, protect lost light, and open doors to worlds unseen. 

Thank you for listening with your heart. 

And if you ever find yourself at the edge of a strange forest… 
listen closely. 

You are not alone. 

Whispers of the Forgotten Grove 
Magic remembers the broken. 

Three small dogs. One ancient forest. A forgotten war between light and silence. 

Ash, Onyx, and Morgana aren’t ordinary Chihuahuas. Marked with the noble hues of the Rottweiler and burdened with secrets not their own, they are chosen by fate to protect a forest steeped in memory and mystery. Guided by visions, shadows, and a forgotten melody, they journey through glowing groves, haunted clearings, and hidden realms to uncover the truth of what was lost—and why the forest called them. 

A tale woven with heart, enchantment, and wild wonder, Whispers of the Forgotten Grove is a story of unlikely heroes, the power of trust, and the magic that lingers where love once lived. 

– Claudia Ulm 
Voice for the Voiceless 
Guardian of Forgotten Things 

The Saga Will Continue

Look out for more adventures with Ash, Onyx and Morgana !