As usual, Penny's parents were busy making salt—a necessity in the village of Salty, which ironically had no natural supply.
They extracted it from the ocean, boiling seawater to leave behind the precious crystals. Her father, a fisherman, often brought back buckets of seawater along with his catch, and together with her mother, they toiled to produce enough salt to sell.
Life became both harder and more rewarding when Penny was born. An extra mouth to feed meant longer hours of work, but her small hands eventually became a great help. As soon as she was old enough, Penny took on the job of selling the salt in the bustling village square.
Whenever Penny made a big sale or sold out her basket, she'd run to the fountain in the center of the village. With a wide smile, she'd toss a coin into the clear water and close her eyes tightly, making a wish.
The villagers often said, "If you wish on a penny, it will come true." And eight-year-old Penny believed every word.
That day, with her basket empty and her heart light, she hopped her way home, eager to be done with work so she could run off to play with the other children.
"You may go anywhere to play all day, Penny, but stay away from the dark forest. A beast lurks there. Do you understand, child?" her mother said, handing her a freshly baked pie.
Little Penny nodded obediently. "Yes, Mama."
With a radiant smile, she scurried off into the village, the pie wrapped snugly in her arms. The air buzzed with the laughter of children as they gathered in the village square.
One of the boys brought out a makeshift ball, and soon the group was immersed in their games—kicking, tossing, and chasing the ball with glee. Their laughter echoed through the cobblestone streets as they played until their legs were weary and their cheeks flushed from the fun.
When their energy was spent, the children gathered in a circle under the shade of a large oak tree. Out came the parcels of food they had brought, and they eagerly shared their treasures: crusty bread, ripe fruits, and Penny's warm pie. They feasted until their bellies were full, the chatter and camaraderie filling the afternoon air.
As the sun began its descent, casting golden hues over the village, the storytelling began.
"Once upon a time," a girl began dramatically, her voice low and her hand gesturing toward the forest, "there lived a beast lurking in the woods."
The other children leaned in, their eyes wide with curiosity and fear.
"It is said," the girl continued, "that this beast eats children—licks their bones clean and spits out the remains!"
A collective gasp rippled through the group.
"How horrible!" one girl shrieked, covering her face with her hands.
"I don't want to hear any more!" another boy cried, his eyes brimming with tears.
"I want to go home!" wailed a younger child, clutching at his companion's sleeve.
Panic spread quickly, and the children scattered in every direction, clutching their belongings as they ran back to the safety of their homes. Only the echo of their hurried footsteps remained, leaving the clearing empty and quiet until tomorrow, when they would gather again to play.
Penny returned home, unfazed by the tales of the beast. To her, it was nothing more than a silly story meant to frighten children like herself. She thought her playmates were foolish for believing such barbaric lies.
Stepping into the warmth of her home, Penny was greeted by the sound of her mother's persistent cough. The sickness—the cold, as the villagers called it—was getting worse.
Penny sighed and gently helped her mother into bed, tucking the blankets around her. Her father was still out fishing, which meant Penny would be having dinner alone.
As she settled at the table, she whispered a small prayer of gratitude before taking her first bite. But just as she lifted her spoon, something caught her attention—a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision.
It was something white and luminous, gliding gracefully outside the window. Penny's eyes widened in wonder as she rose from her seat, enchanted by the sight. It moved like a dream, its form both elegant and otherworldly.
The creature resembled a horse, but its glowing skin shimmered in the moonlight, and it hopped playfully, as if inviting her to follow. Penny couldn't resist. She giggled softly and tiptoed after it, her curiosity outweighing any fear.
The deeper the creature led her into the woods, the more mesmerized she became. It moved faster, its glow dimming as the forest grew darker, leaving the moon as her only guide. Finally, it stopped, its light fading entirely, and Penny found herself standing in a quiet clearing.
Beneath the moon's soft glow, something shiny caught her eye in the grass. Kneeling, she discovered a golden penny—radiant and beautiful. Gold was a rarity in their village, a treasure only the richest possessed. Penny gasped in awe as she reached out to touch the creature's single, gleaming horn.
When she awoke, she was back in her bed, the events of the night blurring like a fading dream. But as she sat up, her fingers brushed against something beneath her pillow.
It was the golden penny.