While the village of Pedra Alta was waking up and Horácio was closing the account book, and while Magda sighed alone on a bench in the square, the forest had already been awake for hours. And, in its heart, hidden among roots and hollow trunks, lived the gnome colony.
No one knew exactly how many there were. Maybe fifty. Maybe a hundred. They multiplied like mushrooms after rain, and each family had its own burrow, dug under an oak or inside the trunk of an old tree. The burrows were small, round, with wooden doors and little windows that opened onto the forest floor. From the outside, anyone who didn't know how to look saw nothing. But from the inside, the burrows were true homes — straw beds, tiny tables, shelves with pots of herbs and dried mushrooms, and always a lit stove, because gnomes love to eat.
There were gnomes and gnomesses. The gnomesses were as talkative as the gnomes, but a little more organized. They were the ones who took care of the mushroom gardens, who dried the herbs, who made the hats and clothes. And they were the ones who bossed the gnomes around, though the gnomes would never admit it out loud.
—
In the highest burrow on the hill lived Noddy. His burrow was famous for two things: the wooden mushroom on the windowsill (a gift from a friend he mentioned at every opportunity) and the mess. Noddy was not organized. He never had been. His burrow had dried mushrooms hanging from the ceiling, clay pots scattered on the floor, and a straw bed he forgot to make every day. But Noddy was happy that way. He woke up early, drank his mushroom tea, and went out into the forest in search of new species. He returned at noon with a full backpack, and spent the afternoon chattering to anyone who would listen. No one knew how he had so much energy.
In the next burrow lived Tito. Tito's burrow was the opposite of Noddy's. Everything tidy, everything labeled, everything in its place. He had a notebook where he wrote down everything he observed — the movement of birds, the change of seasons, the mood of the other gnomes. Tito was the most methodical in the colony. He woke before the sun, made his morning notes, and then went out to observe the forest with his binoculars. He didn't talk much, but when he did, it was always something precise. Noddy said Tito was "the most boring gnome in the hills," but deep down the two were friends.
Bongo lived in a burrow near the stream. His burrow had no door, because he was always drawing on the entrance floor and forgot to close it. Bongo was the artist of the colony. He drew on everything — on the ground, on stones, on leaves, on trunks. He used no brushes or paints, just a twig he carried everywhere. His drawings were simple, but they had soul. The gnomesses loved them. The gnome children lined up to watch him draw.
Zinco lived in the funniest burrow of all. He collected hats. He had straw hats, leaf hats, mushroom hats, and an enormous, disproportionate hat that he wore every day and that fell off his head every three steps. Zinco was clumsy, but he had a good heart. He was always willing to help, even when the help ended in confusion. The gnomesses liked him because he made them laugh.
Gundar lived in the prettiest burrow. He took care of his own blue hair with a care that no one understood. He had wooden combs, herbal oils, and a mirror he polished himself. Gundar was vain, but not arrogant. He liked to compliment others, to keep company, to chat. He was the most sociable in the colony.
And, in the oldest burrow, in the trunk of the oldest oak, lived Griswold. He was the oldest of all. No one knew how old he was. They said he was there before any other gnome was born. Griswold spoke little, but when he spoke, everyone listened. He knew the forest like no one else. He knew where the herbs grew, where the animals hid, where the water was sweetest. And sometimes, when the wind was right, he would stand still at the burrow door, looking at the horizon, as if listening to something only he could hear.
— -
That morning, the colony was bustling. The gnomesses went out to gather mushrooms, the children ran among the roots, and the gnomes prepared for another day of work.
Noddy came out of his burrow with his backpack on his back and his hat askew on his head.
- Good morning, Tito! — he shouted, when he saw his friend at the door of the next burrow.
Tito looked up from his notebook.
- Good morning, Noddy. Did you sleep with your hat on again?
- I did. It's comfortable.
- It's ridiculous.
- It's comfortable and ridiculous. Both things.
Tito shook his head and went back to his notebook. Noddy laughed and followed the path toward the stream, where Bongo was already drawing on the ground.
- Bongo! What are you drawing?
- A mushroom. — Bongo pointed with the twig. — See? This is the cap, this is the stem, and these are the gills.
- It looks like a rock.
- It's not a rock! It's a mushroom!
- If you say so.
Bongo pouted, but kept drawing. Noddy sat down beside him and watched, chattering about the mushrooms he had found the day before. Bongo listened, or pretended to listen. He was used to it by now.
— -
On the other side of the hill, Gundar was combing his hair at the door of his burrow when Zinco passed by, with the enormous hat covering half his face.
- Good morning, Gundar! — said Zinco, tripping over a root.
- Good morning, Zinco. Careful with the hat.
- I am careful! — the hat fell. Zinco sighed, picked up the hat and put it back on. — One day I'll find a way to keep this hat on my head.
- You've tried everything, Zinco.
- Everything except tying it. I'll try tying it.
- You already tried tying it. Last week.