Meadow, the Bearer of Hope

Brittney Humphrey
Jan 3
2 min read

Long before Meadow’s hooves touched the soil of the Enchanted Hollow, something within the realm began to shift.

The wind slowed.

The lanterns burned steadier.

The Hollow waited, not with urgency, but with certainty. Hope was on its way.

Meadow came from a land not far beyond the Hollow’s borders, a place close enough that its hills still echoed familiar songs, yet distant enough that her arrival would matter. She was small then, barely more than a breath and a heartbeat, new to the world and unaware of what she carried.

The Realm Keeper and the Animal Whisperer did not stumble upon her. They went to her. Distance was crossed not out of rescue, but intention. Meadow traveled with them, cradled in care, every step taken together. Her journey was gentle, deliberate, hope moving through the world in the safest way it could.

When Meadow entered the Enchanted Hollow, the realm recognized her immediately.

The ground softened beneath her hooves. Lantern light warmed.

The Hollow did not announce her arrival, it simply made space. Even as a baby, Meadow belonged.

She grew among family. Scarlett’s quiet steadiness. Giovanni’s watchful strength. Mika’s calm presence. Sage’s wisdom. Binx’s curiosity. Amethyst’s gentle magic. Oddity’s wonder. Bunz’s stories from beyond the Hollow.

Snape’s knowing stillness, who listened to the future as carefully as others listened to the present.

Dumbledore’s disappearing acts, who taught her that wonder did not vanish, it simply stepped out of sight when needed.

Meadow learned the wonder of the realm not through lessons, but through living, watching, listening, staying.

Hope does not rush, and neither did Meadow.

As she grew, it became clear that her gift was not loud magic or spectacle. Meadow carried something rarer. When fear crept close, she stood firm. When sorrow lingered, she rested beside it. When the world felt heavy, Meadow reminded it, without words, that weight could be shared.

Where Meadow stood, things softened. Flowers leaned toward her path. Mushrooms bloomed brighter after her passing. Animals and travelers alike found themselves breathing easier in her presence, though few could say why. Storms slowed when they reached the Hollow, as if considering her before moving on.

Meadow did not promise that everything would be alright.

She promised that it was worth staying.

The Hollow entrusted her with this quiet truth: hope is not the absence of hardship, it is the courage to remain gentle within it. Meadow became its keeper not through declaration, but through devotion.

Even now, when lanterns glow a little warmer and the ground feels steady beneath tired feet, Meadow is nearby. Sometimes she is resting in the grass. Sometimes she is watching the horizon. Always she is present.