The Enchanted Forest lay where three kingdoms converged but did not meet. Few dared enter among the trees that seemed to watch every move and probe the thoughts of all who passed by. Only those confident of their proficiency in the magical arts and those of good conscience could penetrate the forest without being driven away by an irrational fear of what the Forest held. The Enchanted Forest was rich with wildlife, but none dared hunt there. Rumors hinted that the deer could turn hunters into stone by fixing their eyes on them.

Stories of evil spirits and mortals who preferred the darkness of the Forest to the light of day were whispered about in the three kingdoms. These stories were partly true. The Enchanted Forest suffered their presence so as to discourage other unwanted intruders. The leaves whispered plans of revenge against the evil spirits and waited for the right time to come.

One man lived in the Enchanted Forest. His name has long been lost to history and he was known simply as the Hermit. He had entered the Forest when he was a homeless child and the trees had welcomed him. He grew to love the Forest and all its animals. He learned how to treat their wounds and they helped him out in many practical way. An eagle visited one of the three kingdoms and carried away a magic book from a sorcerer who did not deserve it because of his evil way. It carried the book to he Hermit who used it to help him absorb the Forest's magic and become more deeply attuned to what the roots and the treetops were thinking and hoping for.

The Hermit's favorite occupation was to sit in his cottage and meditate in front of the fire which never went out. Here, images of important events occurring in the three kingdoms sometimes appeared. Although he could not have explained in words what he knew was happening in the three kingdoms, he nonetheless felt these events deeply when he was meditating. He never tried to do anything about any of these events, even when he sensed the presence of evil. The time to act had not come. Rather, he breathed the silence of the Enchanted Forest and allowed the quiet movements of love within his heart to move out to those in need. Most important, the Hermit listened in silence to the voices that sing the songs of the Nameless One whom few in his day remembered.

How the Hermit became known in the three kingdoms is not known. Perhaps a lost child found him and, after being set on the right path homewards, was the first to spread the word. Perhaps a hunter, mysteriously injured by his intended quarry, was healed, admonished to mend his ways, and sent back to his kingdom. However his fame spread, the fact remained that from time to time, someone in desperate need for wise counsel would brave the journey through the Forest to talk with the Hermit. Anyone who came to him to hear a word of truth left the cabin with joy in his eyes. Those who wished for something other than the truth were never able to look their fellow humans in the eye again.

Most visitors came by day, but there came a time when an errand needed to be covered with the secrecy of night. A dark horse picked its way through the shrubbery while its rider, wrapped in a black cloak, swore under his breath as he tried to control his horse. In front of the rider sat a five-year-old boy who clutched the horse's man. The boy looked about in the dark, fearful but fascinated with what he saw about him. Dark shapes emerged from among the trees and the moonlight caused the horseman to think he was seeing ghosts. It is rumored that the horseman owed his life to the boy on the horse that night.

The boy did not know well the rider who had suddenly taken him away from the home he understood so little. The rider was one of the servants and one of the grumpier ones at that. The boy had confused memories of women in colorful silk dresses and other memories of the raucous laughter of men around a table overflowing with rich smelling food. But none of the smiles of the women or the rich food had been for him. Faces turned in his direction were at best distantly sympathetic. At worse, they were severe. Other children stayed away from him. His only happy memory was of the old woman, Chanda. She did not wear fancy clothes like most of the other women, and she smelled of the earth. But she took care of the boy and held him tight when he cried over his mysterious lot in life.

The boy was asleep and Chanda was snoring in the bed next to his when the servant broke into the room with his lantern held high. He ordered the nurse to dress the sleepy boy quickly and warmly. Chanda cursed the servant roundly until the servant slapped her across the face and knocked her over. The boy ran to his nurse to comfort her, but the servant grabbed him and carried him off.

Not until he was well into the brooding Enchanted Forest did the boy stop crying. The servant's obvious discomfort helped the boy feel better about where he was. The wind reassured him with promises of adventure while it unnerved the servant. Was this not the Forest Chanda had spoken of in her best stories? Perhaps in years to come, nurses would tell children the stories of the little boy who was clutching the mane of a horse making its way through the trees of the Forest.

The Hermit sensed the hoofbeats long before they were audible. Looking in the fire, he saw the horse, its rider, and the boy. He knew this visit had to be an important one to merit this midnight journey. A phantom floated in front of the horse. The rider screamed and tried to steer the horse away, but the horse bolted on in the direction of the Hermit's hut. The boy's eyes shone with excitement. The Hermit liked him already. He continued to gaze into the fire long after the picture faded out until he heard a sharp knock on the door.

"Come in!" the Hermit's voice rang out.

The door opened slowly and the tall servant, his face covered with a scarf, entered, dragging the willing boy after him/ The wind slammed the door shut. The boy giggled when the startled servant jumped. The servant slapped in boy in the face.

"Lay not another hand on the boy if you wish a safe return from this cabin!" commanded the Hermit.

The hermit reached over to the boy who was already drawing closer to him as well. The Hermit touched the boy's cheek and the sting of the blow went away. The servant shifted his feet in discomfort, not daring to defend himself to the Hermit. The boy looked at the old man's ruddy face that was filled with a harmonious flow of wrinkles. The long white beard looked so soft that the boy felt he had to run his fingers through it, and so he did.

"You wish something of me?" the Hermit asked the servant.

"I bring this boy to you," the rider answered, his voice muffled by the scarf.

"So I see. Why do you bring him?"

"I am under orders to do so."

"Whose orders?"

"I am not at liberty to tell you. I am allowed only to tell you that the boy has been sent to you because it must be so."

"From which kingdom?"

"I am under strict orders to say nothing of kingdoms."

The Hermit knew he could find out which kingdom had sent the boy but he decided that the information would be useless. The Hermit turned away from the rider and turned his attention back to the little boy. Light-brown hair hung loosely over the boy's bright face, almost hiding his brown eyes. His cheeks were red from the ride through the cold night and the rider's slap. The boy's eyes had already scanned every corner of the cottage with the assurance that this was his own. The fire reflecting off the boy's face told the Hermit that the boy before him would be fit to grow up in the Enchanted Forest.

"What is the boy's name?" asked the Hermit.

"That is for you to decide. We have purposely withheld any name for him until now."

The look in the boy's face showed sorrow at those words. The Hermit's heart ached at the thought of a child spending years of life with no name given to him.

"That is a heavy burden to lay on my shoulders on top of giving me the boy himslef, but I think I can stand up to that."

"You will take the boy?"

"He will stay with me," the Hermit announced.

The boy gasped with joy and jumped up into the Hermit's lap.

"You want me?" the boy asked, almost in disbelief.

"The whole Forest wants you," the Hermit replied.

"I like tat," said the boy.

The Hermit turned his face to the rider.

"You may go. I suggest you think of living your life differently if you want to ride back through the forest to the kingdom that sent you."

The rider nodded grimly, opened the door and slipped out. The wind picked up again. Shortly, the sound of the horse trotting through the undergrowth could be heard.

"He gone?" the boy asked.

"Yes."

"Good."

The boy slid off the Hermit's lap, walked over to the fireplace and ran a hand through the edge of the flame.

"Tat fire?"

"Special fire."

The boy stretched his hand over the fire and kept it there, soaking in the heat until he took in too much and jerked it away. Next thing he knew, the Hermit had placed the boy on a three-legged stool. He sat there with his feet dangling while the Hermit made a funny face that caused him to forget the pain in his hand.

"You look at the fire," the Hermit explained, "but do not touch."

"No touch tat fire?"

"Yes, do not touch that fire. It is a friend, but a dangerous friend."

The boy hopped off the stool and started to walk around the cottage. The wood cabinet especially aroused his curiosity. As he looked at the grains in the wood, he noticed, he noticed that they seemed to move. He started to touch the cabinet, but this time he was more cautious.

"What's tat?"

"My cabinet. I find things there when I need them."

"Touch?"

"Not now. It's too magic."

"Good magic?"

"Wonderful magic--at the right time."

The boy walked back to the stool and pointed to it.

"And tat?"

"Tat, tat, tat. Is that all you can say?" joked the Hermit. "Yes, tat's a stool, and Tat will be your name since you want to know what everything is."

The boy flushed with pleasure.

"I'm Tat?"

"Yes, you are Tat. It is your very own name."

"My name?"

"Yes, you're name."

"Tat's very good."

And the two of them laughed with the silence of the Enchanted Forest.