Prompt: Retell a classic fairytale. (I chose Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid.)

Heather sat in her Nick Hollow home and listened to the crackling fire. There was a thunderstorm waging a war in the sky, and the Elm tree swayed with the buffets of wind above. But Heather knew that the roots of her home went as deep as Mother and Father's love, and no storm could ever uproot it.

She and Father and Picket were snuggled together in a cozy heap by the cheerful glow of the fire, and Mother was singing a sweet melody as she rocked Jacks in her arms.

Thunder boomed again, and Picket jumped.

"You're alright, son," Father said reassuringly. Picket rubbed a sleepy eye and snuggled in closer.

"It's hard to sleep with all the noise outside," he mumbled. "Why is it so loud anyway?"

"The storm is just jealous that he's not as cozy and safe as we are," Mother said gently. Picket smiled triumphantly at that thought, but another crash of thunder made Baby Jacks start fussing. Picket looked over at his baby brother anxiously, but Mother only smiled and resumed her humming. It was a sad, haunting tune, and Mother began to sing the words to it.

"Within a warren there below,

Fair buck from under-tree,

I would concede to be a wife,

And keep thy home for thee.

I'll find a way to come to you-

I'll find a way to thee."

"What's that song, Mother?" Heather asked, a puzzled frown on her brow. "I think I've heard you sing it before."

"It's from a sad love story," Mother replied, her eyes sparkling with old memories. "A fairy tale."

"What about?" Picket asked, his whiskers twitching with curiosity.

"About a squirrel who falls in love with a rabbit," Father chuckled.

"Whittle!" Mother chided, shooting him a half-serious glare.

"It's her favorite fairy tale," Father added mischievously. "Always was."

"It sounds silly," Picket said, losing interest. But Heather perked up her ears. "I want to hear about it," she said quietly, leaning her head on her knees and looking into the dancing flames.

Father and Mother shared a knowing look before Mother began.

"Long ago," she said, "there was a little squirrel who lived in the green branches of a forest." Mother glanced at Picket, who nodded to show he had relented and was willing to hear more.

"She was the prettiest little squirrel in the entire forest," Mother went on. "Her beautiful fur was red and glossy, and she had large, thoughtful brown eyes. Her father was a very prominent member in the squirrel society, and he had many suitors lined up for her. But she did not love any of them, and much preferred to be free and scamper about in the branches above like wind on the leaves.

"One day, as she was out by herself, she happened to hear a cry for help down on the forest floor. She went to investigate, and found a handsome buck on the ground, wounded and in a faint. And he was being approached by a wolf. The buck had been fighting him, and had managed to fatally wound the wolf. But wolves are determined creatures and will fight to the last fiber of their strength, and as the buck had become weak the wolf had gathered what strength it had left, and was advancing to finish him."

Mother paused there, and Heather noticed that Picket was listening with interest now. "Go on! Please, Mother," he begged. Mother smiled teasingly at Picket, but conceded.

"Well, if the squirrel had not come, the buck would have died for sure. But the squirrel was very brave, and scampered down the tree trunk to see if she could help, even though she was hardly of the age to be leaving the safety of the trees. She was a little smaller than the buck, but she was strong, and she managed to drag the buck into the safety of an old fallen log. Then she did her best to tend to the buck until the wolf bled out and died. The buck was still unconscious, and the squirrel didn't know how to wake him. She had never even met a rabbit before, although she knew where there were warrens, and she was very concerned for him. So in the end she left the buck near the closest warren she knew of, and waited in a tree trunk to see what happened.

"Before long, a doe came out of the warren and nearly stumbled over the buck lying there. Quickly she ran for a doctor, and the buck was on his feet in no time. He smiled around at everyone, but didn't even notice the squirrel who was watching through the trees. This made the squirrel very sad, and it was with a heavy heart that she went back to her nest.

"She didn't tell anyone about meeting the buck, because squirrels back then were supposed to keep to their own kind and she knew her family would be displeased with her. But she thought about him all the time, and she wished she could see him again. Several times she snuck away to look at the warren where she had left him, but she never saw him there. She began to realize that she loved this buck, even though she had hardly met him, and that thought nearly terrified her."

"Why would it scare her?" Picket interjected.

"Because she's a squirrel, half-wit," Heather laughed, nudging her clueless brother.

Mother laughed. "Yes, it was quite a predicament."

"What happened next?" Heather asked, eyes shining eagerly.

"Well, one day she could bear it no longer and she confided her secret to one of her sisters." Mother said, sitting on the floor beside them with a sleeping Jacks in her arms. "And her sister said that she knew where there were other warrens, and she could take her to look at those. And in the course of the next week, they managed to track down where this buck lived. He was a warrior of great renown, and he had healed well. The squirrel still never dared to show herself to the buck, and tried to be content with watching him from the sheltering forest leaves whenever she saw him outside.

"At her nest, she became restless. She would sit on a tree branch outside and look far away, trapped in her imagination, which was the only place her longing could be satisfied. She knew that rabbits didn't find squirrels attractive. Their long bushy tails and funny walk were odd to them, and she knew it.

"Her sister became very worried about her, as did the rest of her family, though they did not know what bothered her so. One day, the poor squirrel could no longer bear it, and one day she ran away."

"Where did she go?" Picket asked, when Mother paused there.

"She went to see the buck, didn't she?" Heather guessed.

"No," Mother said. "She went to see a witch."

Heather's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of that. "Why?" she gasped.

"Because," Father said, speaking for the first time since the story had begun, "when people are desperate, they often seek the wrong kind of help."

"Please go on, Mother!" Heather said, sitting up straight.

"She asked the witch if she could make her become a rabbit doe," Mother said. "And the witch said that she could, but only for three days. And if, in that three days, the buck did not love her back, then the little squirrel girl would die."

"Oh, that's awful." Picket breathed.

"It was worse," Mother said, "because the witch told the squirrel that in payment for the service of making her a rabbit, she would be forced to give up her voice. When the squirrel agreed and took the potion, she made her way back to the buck's den. The buck found her outside, and he thought she was a lost doe. But when he asked her what her name was, she could not reply. And though the buck was kind and took her into his home as a guest, he did not love her in the way she wanted. It was not because she wasn't beautiful- she looked like a gorgeous auburn doe, and she still had the most wistful brown eyes. But the buck had his heart set on another doe- the doe that had found him outside of her warren the day the squirrel had left him there. He thought that she was the one who had saved his life, and he believed he was indebted to her."

Heather felt her insides churn at that. It didn't seem fair. The squirrel had given up so much for that buck, and he didn't even love her back.

"The third day came," Mother went on, "and at sunset the squirrel knew she was going to die. She walked outside and looked up at the trees for the last time. But right at the last moment, her sister came running up to her, breathless and tail-less.

"Sister!" she gasped, "I cut off my tail and gave it to the witch in exchange for this enchanted knife. If you take it and plunge it into the heart of the buck you love, you will not die. You will return to your squirrel form, and you can come back to the nest. I came to give this to you, but I must get back to the trees." And her sister ran off. The squirrel girl was left holding the knife and wondering what to do."

"She didn't do it, did she mother?" Picket asked with wide eyes.

"No," Mother said. "She loved the buck too much to do that. She threw the knife to the ground where it splintered into dust. And then she ran to the place where she had first met the buck and laid herself to rest just as the sun rose on the fourth day."

"And she died?" Heather asked incredulously. She could not believe that the story could end so.

"And she died."

"But that's not fair!" Picket protested.

"There is more to the story," Mother informed him. The children quickly silenced themselves.

"As the squirrel died, she was brought into a place that was very bright. And a glowing star came to her, and spoke to her. And it said: "Dearest little squirrel. You gave yourself entirely to the buck you loved, and by your merits you have obtained eternal being. You paid the ultimate price of self sacrifice, and by your great love you have been born anew." So there really is a happy ending to this story. For she became alive forever, beyond this world, where she could be truly happy."

Mother finished, and there was silence in the room, save for the crackling fire and the wind and rain outside.

"That was sad," Picket announced. "It's not MY favorite story."

"I thought it was beautiful," Heather murmured, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"From this story I hope you may draw this lesson," Father said, hugging his children closer. "That love is stronger than death, and it never goes truly unnoticed."

Mother smiled. "Or truly unpaid," she added.

Heather smiled too and leaned against her Father's strong arm. Love was what bound their family together. And as long as there was love, there was strength. And that strength could weather any storm, inside or out.