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In the deep woods of the far North, under feathery leaves of fern, was a great fairyland of merry elves, sometimes called forest brownies.
These elves lived joyfully. They had everything at hand and did not need to worry much about living. Berries and nuts grew plentiful in the forest. Rivers and springs provided the elves with crystal water. Flowers prepared them drink from their flavorful juices, which the munchkins loved greatly.
At midnight the elves climbed into flower cups and drank drops of their sweet water with much delight. Every elf would tell a wonderful fairy tale to the flower to thank it for the treat.
Despite this abundance, the pixies did not sit back and do nothing. They tinkered with their tasks all day long. They cleaned their houses. They swung on tree branches and swam in forested streams. Together with the early birds, they welcomed the sunrise, listened to the thunder growling, the whispering of leaves and blades of grass, and the conversations of the animals.
The birds told them about warm countries, sunbeams whispered of distant seas, and the moon spoke of treasures hidden deeply in the earth.
In winter, the elves lived in abandoned nests and hollows. Every sunny day they came out of their burrows and made the forest ring with their happy shouts, throwing tiny snowballs in all directions and building snowmen as small as the pinky finger of a little girl. The munchkins thought they were giants five times as large as them.
With the first breath of spring, the elves left their winter residences and moved to the cups of the snowdrop flowers. Looking around, they watched the snow as it turned black and melted. They kept an eye on the blossoming of hazel trees while the leaves were still sleeping in their warm buds. They observed squirrels moving their last winter supplies from storage back to their homes. Gnomes welcomed the birds coming back to their old nests, where the elves lived during winters. Little by little, the forest once more grew green.
One moonlight night, elves were sitting at an old willow tree and listening to mermaids singing about their underwater kingdom.
“Brothers! Where is Murzilka? He has not been around for a long time!” said one of the elves, Father Beardie, who had a long white beard. He was older than others and well respected in his striped stocking cap.
“I’m here,” a snotty voice arose, and Murzilka himself, nicknamed Feather Head, jumped from the top of the tree. All the brothers loved Murzilka, but thought he was lazy, as he actually was. Also, he loved to dress in a tailcoat, tall black hat, boots with narrow toes, a cane and a single eyeglass, being very proud of that look.
“Do you know where I’m coming from? The very Arctic Ocean!” roared he.
Usually, his words were hard to believe. That time, though, his announcement sounded so marvelous that all elves around him were agape with wonder.
“You were there, really? Were you? How did you get there?” asked the sprites.
“As easy as ABC! I came by the fox one day and caught her packing her things to visit her cousin, a silver fox who lives by the Arctic Ocean.
“Take me with you,” I said to the fox.
“Oh, no, you’ll freeze there! You know, it’s cold there!” she said.
“Come on.” I said. “What are you talking about? What cold? Summer is here.”
“Here we have summer, but there they have winter,” she answered.
“No,” I thought. “She must be lying because she does not want to give me a ride.”
Without telling her a word, I jumped upon her back and hid in her bushy fur, so even Father Frost could not find me.
Like it or not, she had to take me with her.
We ran for a long time. Another forest followed our woods, and then a boundless plain opened, a swamp covered with lichen and moss. Despite the intense heat, it had not entirely thawed.
“This is tundra,” said my fellow traveler.
“Tundra? What is tundra?” asked I.
“Tundra is a huge, forever frozen wetland covering the entire coast of the Arctic Ocean.
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