Wizzle and the Wand That Wouldn’t Work

An Inkly Story

In a tiny tower at the edge of a buttercup meadow lived a little mouse with a very big imagination.

His name was Wizzle, and he was a wizard.

He wore a purple robe that dragged just a little behind him and a tall, starry hat that wobbled when he walked. Tucked under his paw was a wand made from polished twig and stardust glue. Wizzle loved his wand. He used it every day.

Sometimes it helped his socks leap into drawers.

Sometimes it stirred his oatmeal all by itself.

Sometimes it made the air sparkle like sunshine in bubbles.

But this morning, Wizzle had something new in mind.

“Today,” he said aloud to the window, “I will make the flowers sing.”

He grabbed his spellbook and tiptoed down the steps, humming as he walked into the bright, golden meadow.

Wizzle stood in the tall grass, held his wand high, and said in his most wizardy voice:

“Petal-choir, notes that ring—

Let the flowers start to sing!”

Nothing happened.

He tried again, waving his wand this time.

Still nothing.

“Oh no,” Wizzle whispered, frowning. “Are you… broken?”

The breeze blew softly. The grass swished. But not a single flower sang.

Just then, a soft splash came from the stream nearby. Ink the Octopus popped her head above the water, her wand glinting like a little star.

“Hi, Wizzle!” she called. “What’s wrong?”

“My wand won’t work,” Wizzle sighed. “I wanted to make the flowers sing, but they’re just… quiet.”

Ink smiled in that calm, twinkly way of hers. “Magic doesn’t always work on the first try,” she said. “Sometimes it needs a little more time. Or a little help. Or a friend.”

Wizzle tilted his head. “A friend?”

Ink nodded. “Let’s just sit and listen.”

So they did.

They sat side by side, small and still, and listened. The bees buzzed lazily. The wind made the leaves whisper. The petals of a daffodil fluttered like a quiet sigh.

Then—just faintly—they heard it.

The daffodil gave a low hum.

A tulip followed with a tiny trill. A bluebell joined with a silvery chime. One by one, the meadow joined in a gentle, flowery song.

Wizzle’s eyes sparkled.

“It worked,” he whispered. “Ink—it worked!”

Ink gave him a wink. “Sometimes friendship is the strongest spell of all.”

Wizzle beamed, leapt to his feet, and gave Ink the biggest high-five a mouse could give.

And from then on, whenever Wizzle tried a new spell, he always made sure to bring a friend.

Just in case.