Nimble Tinkerspun was standing at the back workbench of the Workshop of Odd Inventions, under the oil lamp that always flickered like it couldn’t decide whether to stay alive. He was sorting screws when he heard Merrin and Talka talking just beyond a stack of gearboxes. Their voices were low, the kind gnomes used when they didn’t want a sadness to spread.
“I saw Thistle this morning,” Merrin said. “He sprained his ankle on that loose spring yesterday, shot right out from under him. He tried hopping to the window last evening and almost fell over.”
Nimble froze.
The loose spring.
He might have dropped a spring near the ladder yesterday.
Oh no.
What if that was his fault?
Talka sighed. “He keeps saying he won’t get to decorate the Sevenbough Pine. Says without placing the star, Solstice won’t feel right.”
The Sevenbough Pine — with its seven great limbs pointed in seven gnomish directions — was Thistle’s favorite tradition of the entire year. Nimble’s stomach twisted.
Merrin murmured, “I wish we could bring the Sevenbough to him somehow.”
Nimble’s fingers tightened around a screw.
Bring it to him?
Could he?
His mind jumped ahead before he could stop it.
Something small.
Something layered.
Something he could decorate from bed.
A tree that could nest away into its own little box.
He stepped out from behind the gearboxes.
“Maybe we can,” Nimble said.
Merrin and Talka turned toward him. Nimble swallowed, heart punching his ribs.
“I’m staying late tonight,” he said. “There’s… something I want to try.”
Merrin’s face softened. “You’re making him something, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Nimble said, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He returned to his bench, pulled the green stock toward him, and whispered to himself,
“Let’s fix what I might’ve caused.”
Later that night, long after the workshop dimmed to embers, Nimble walked through Mosswhistle Glen with a small red-and-white present box tucked under his arm. Snow dusted the lid. The five nested layers inside clinked softly with each step, ornaments shifting like tiny bells.
Thistle opened the door on his crutches, eyes tired. “Nimble? What’s all that?”
Nimble handed him the box, suddenly shy. “Just… something you can decorate from home this year.”
Thistle unclipped the lid, revealing the tiny seven-sided tree within, the bright yellow star.
“Oh,” Thistle whispered. His eyes shimmered. “Nimble… this is the Sevenbough. Just… small enough to hold.”
Nimble felt his throat tighten. “Thought you shouldn’t miss it.”
Thistle pressed the star into place with trembling fingers. The room seemed to glow.
And in that quiet, snowy doorway — with the little tree catching the lantern light — the very first NestAway Tree™ found its purpose:
to bring the spirit of Solstice anywhere a heart needed it.
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NestAway™ Tree
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