検索キーワード： 童話・民話・神話

Step into the magical world of Hedgewitch, where the land of Faerie lies just beyond our own . . . The fourth book in the enchanting Hedgewitch series, perfect for children age 9+ and fans of Nevermoor and Michelle Harrison.

Stinky's Stories #4: Moldy-locks and The Three Bears has descriptive copy which is not yet available from the Publisher.

Everyone knows the story of Cinderella. In fact, many of us know a few different versions. But there are thousands of folk tales and hidden gems from every corner of the world that are timeless classics in their local communities that don’t have the same reach. Until now. This beautiful treasury has stories to make you laugh, gasp, join in with and learn from. Each tale is written by an expert storyteller from around the world.

Phoebe dreams of becoming an artist like her grandmother, Cass, a brilliant storyteller who has passed on her love of Greek myths to Phoebe. But Cass is disappearing before Phoebe’s eyes, lost to a cruel illness that is destroying her memory. When grief drives Phoebe to ruin the only painting Cass has never sold, a seascape inspired by childhood holidays on the Greek island of Ithaca, she is mysteriously swept away to a fantasy world that resembles her favourite myth of all – the story of the Odyssey.

Every night, Glumfoot dreams of delicious meals and every night he is served the same thing: his dad’s bogey broth. He is overjoyed one day to discover the new café at the edge of the woods – but when one very hungry ogre decides he’ll eat the owner, it’s down to Glumfoot to save the chef, and with it, his dreams of ever having a good meal.

Are you brave? Are you curious? Are you ready for an adventure? Then you are invited on the most magical of journeys—through the woods. There are many ways through the woods. Some are long and winding. Some are as quick as a blink. You might encounter griffins, giants, serpents, sprites, and more along the way. Which path will you choose? What will you discover?

As whispers of winter beckon, Anna Ballinkay and Colin Pierce brace for change. The Ravenfall Inn, a magical nexus between worlds, is bustling with preparations for the Winter Solstice ball, which will bring together a mix of otherworldly guests and festive enchantments. Amid the festivities, a young boy named Declan arrives and claims his new identity as a Raven, sparking a mission to rebuild the legendary Ravenguard.

It was in the latter part of January, and a heavy snowfall was driving down. It whirled through the streets and the lanes, and the outsides of the windowpanes seemed plastered with snow. It fell down in masses from the roofs of the houses. A sudden panic seized the people. They ran, they flew, and they fell into each other's arms and felt that at least for that little moment they had a foothold. The coaches and horses seemed covered with sugar frosting, and the footmen stood with their backs to the carriages, to protect their faces from the wind.

On the hill there stood a windmill stately to look at and very proud of itself. "But I'm not proud at all," it said, "though I'm much enlightened, outside and inside. On the outside I have the sun and moon, and for inward use, too; and I also have wax candles, oil lamps, and tallow candles. Yes, I daresay I'm enlightened. I'm a thinking individual and so well built that I'm a pleasure to look at. I have a good windpipe in my chest, and I have four wings placed upon my head, just under my hat.

Near the shores of the great Belt, which is one of the straits that connect the Cattegat with the Baltic, stands an old mansion with thick red walls. I know every stone of it," says the Wind. "I saw it when it was part of the castle of Marck Stig on the promontory.

There was a man who once had known a great many new fairy tales, but he had forgotten them, he said. The fairy tale that used to come to visit him of its own accord no longer came and knocked at his door; and why didn't it come any more? It's true that for a year and a day the man hadn't thought of it, hadn't really expected it to come and knock; and it certainly wouldn't have come anyway, for outside there was war and, inside, the misery and sorrow that war brings with it.

Far away in the land to which the swallows fly when it is winter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named Eliza. The eleven brothers were princes, and each went to school with a star on his breast, and a sword by his side.

Once upon a time, there was a proud and wicked prince who thought only about how he might conquer all the nations of the earth and make his name a terror to all mankind. He plunged forth with fire and sword; his soldiers trampled down the grain in the fields and put the torch to the peasant's cottage so that the red flames licked the very leaves from the trees, and the fruit hung roasted from black and charred limbs.

Have you ever seen "a maiden"? I am referring to what road pavers call a "maiden," a thing used for ramming down the paving stones. "She" is made entirely of wood, broad at the bottom, with iron hoops around it, and a stick run through it at the upper, narrower end, which gives the maiden arms.

On one of the Danish islands, where old thingsteads, the judgment seats of our forefathers, loom up in the cornfields, and mighty trees raise their heads above the beech forests, there lies a little town of low houses with red roofs. In one of these houses strange things were being prepared on the open stove, over the coals and embers. There was boiling in test tubes, mixing and distilling, and pounding of drugs in mortars. An elderly man was in charge of everything.

Poor John was greatly troubled, because his father was very ill and could not recover. Except for these two, there was no one in their small room. The lamp on the table had almost burned out, for it was quite late at night.

A top and a ball were lying together in a drawer among a lot of other toys. The top said to the ball, "Since we live in the same drawer, we ought to be sweethearts."

The well was deep, and therefore the rope was long; the wheel went around with difficulty when the waterfilled bucket had to be pulled up over the side of the well. The sun could never mirror itself down in the water, no matter how brightly it shone; but as far down as its rays penetrated, green weeds were growing from between the stones.

There came a soldier marching down the high road-one, two! one, two! He had his knapsack on his back and his sword at his side as he came home from the wars. On the road he met a witch, an ugly old witch, a witch whose lower lip dangled right down on her chest.

There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers. They were all brothers, born of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets and looked straight ahead of them, splendid in their uniforms, all red and blue.