Finding Footprints: A Sasquatch Saga

By Erik Daniel Shein, Melissa Davis and Karen Fuller

Lily Evergreen, a hearing-impaired 12-year-old, has always felt a deep connection to the enchanted forest surrounding her home. When she befriends Winston, a teenage Bigfoot destined to become the forest's guardian, Lily embarks on an extraordinary adventure filled with magic, courage, and the power of friendship.
Together, Lily and Winston must navigate the challenges of the mystical realm, facing ancient trials and forging an unbreakable bond. As Lily uncovers the secrets of her own heritage and the wisdom of the forest, she discovers her true purpose as a guide and protector alongside Winston.
"Finding Footprints" is a heartwarming tale of friendship, self-discovery, and the magic that lies within the natural world. Join Lily and Winston on their unforgettable journey as they learn the true meaning of bravery, compassion, and the enduring power of connection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Apr 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891261853

Erik Daniel Shein

Erik Daniel Shein was born Erik Daniel Stoops, November 18th 1966. He is an American writer, and Visionary, film producer, screenwriter, voice actor, animator, entrepreneur, entertainer, and philanthropist, Pet enthusiast and animal health advocate. He is the author and co-authored of over 30 nonfiction and fiction books whose writings include six scientific articles in the field of herpetology. His children’s book, “The Forgotten Ornament” is a Christmas classic, and was endorsed by Hollywood legends Mickey and Jan Rooney.

Book preview

Chapter 1 – The Silent Song

In the magical woods of the Pacific Northwest, where the trees tell stories older than my grandma and the leaves talk in soft whispers in my mind, I found a unique connection that didn’t need ears to listen. It was like magic hugging my heart—a special language that made friends with a 12-year-old like me, Lily.

I stood at the edge of the forest, my long, dark hair whipping around my face as the wind moved the treetops. The Pacific Northwest air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. My gaze drank in the lush greens of the forest floor and the towering trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky.

The rhythms of the woods soon enveloped my spirit, whispering their secrets beyond mere heard sound. I was born unable to hear, my world silent except for the vibrations I felt through my feet. Although I would never experience the chirp of birds or the crash of water on rock, I found other ways to communicate with the world around me.

The morning sun hadn’t even bothered to fully rise when I found myself ankle-deep in the mossy embrace of the forest. My long, dark hair whipped around my face as the wind moved through the treetops, and my breath made little clouds that vanished into the crisp air. My Labrador service dog, Malachi’s soft brown fur was flecked with dewdrops like he’d been sprinkled with liquid diamonds. Most kids probably slept in on Saturdays, but not me. Not when the forest beckoned with its emerald fingers.

I signed to Malachi, Ready for our adventure? His tail thumped against my leg, a silent symphony of joy, his brown eyes glittering with anticipation. I couldn’t hear the rustle of leaves or the distant calls of waking birds, but with Malachi, I never missed a beat.

My fingers brushed over the dog tag that hung from his collar—a small piece of metal engraved with my name, Lily Evergreen, and below it, ‘Hearing Impaired.’ To some, it might have seemed like a label of limitation, but to me, it was just another trait, like having dark hair or being able to see spirits in the mist—an Evergreen family specialty, you could say.

The forest was my second home, as familiar as the cozy, two-story house where my family lived. The trees were my sentinels, ancient watchers who had seen more than any human ever would. I’d come to understand their silent language, the way they swayed and bent, the secrets they whispered through my mind.

Malachi nudged me forward, his nose pointing towards something unseen. He was more than my ears; he was my compass in a world where sound didn’t exist. We wandered, our steps a dance between shadow and light, until we stood at the edge of the known and the mystical.

Today feels different, doesn’t it? I signed, knowing full well Malachi couldn’t respond in words. But he looked at me, his gaze steady, as if he understood every signed word. And maybe he did. After all, magic thrived in these woods, and nothing here was truly ordinary.

We paused, the only two souls amidst the towering cedars. I closed my eyes, letting the scents of pine and earth fill my senses. This place, it was a part of me, as much as I was a part of it—entwined destinies written in the rich soil beneath our feet.

Let’s see what today brings us, I signed with a determined smile, stepping deeper into the realm where legends were born, and anything was possible. With Malachi by my side, I was ready to embrace it all.

Malachi bounded ahead, his tail a wagging beacon as I navigated through the underbrush. The forest hummed with life, a song felt rather than heard. Grandma Cheyenne always said that each plant, each creature had its own spirit, a piece of the great tapestry of life. I believed her, and not just because she made the best blackberry pie in the Pacific Northwest.

Slow down, Malachi, I signed when he got too far ahead, my fingers slicing through the cool morning air. He paused, sniffing the ground before circling back to me, his brown eyes glinting with unspoken words.

We reached the clearing where Grandma’s cabin stood, smoke curling from the chimney like a lazy cat stretching toward the sky. The wooden walls held stories, laughter, and a comforting scent of cedar and sage that seemed to seep right into your bones.

Morning, Lily-bear! Dad signed to me as he picked up an armful of chopped wood. His smile was wide, mirroring the streaks of sunshine that danced between the treetops.

Good morning, I signed back, watching as he dropped the wood beside the chopping block and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

Your mom and grandma are inside, preparing for the feast tonight. His hands flew as he explained, then gestured to the door. You should go say hi.

Nodding, I headed for the cabin, Malachi at my heels. The screen door creaked open to reveal the heart of our home—warm, inviting, filled with the aroma of baking bread and simmering herbs. Mom looked up from kneading dough, her face breaking into a soft smile.

Good morning, sweetheart, she signed, dusting flour from her hands onto her apron.

Hi, Mom. I returned the gesture, then glanced around for Grandma Cheyenne. She sat by the fireplace, threading beads onto a leather strap, her silver hair reflecting the firelight.

Good morning, Grandma, I signed as I approached, kneeling beside her.

Ah, Lily, she responded with a warm twinkle in her eye.

You remember our lessons from yesterday? Her hands were soft as she signed to me and then chucked me under the chin when I nodded. Today is a good day for exploring. Look for the things we talked about yesterday. But remember, respect the spirits of the forest; they watch over us.

Always, I promised by placing my hand over my heart.

Mom handed me a backpack with my lunch and something for Malachi. Take Malachi with you, Mom added, though I knew it was more for her peace of mind than mine. Malachi and I were inseparable.

Of course, I replied, my hands conveying gratitude.

Be back before sundown, Mom reminded, pointing to the orange glow beginning to spread across the horizon.

Will do, I signed, a spark of adventure igniting within me.

With a final pat on Malachi’s head, we slipped out the door, back into the morning sunlight filtering through the dense canopy. Together, we ventured to the forest, just beyond where the shadows played tricks with the light, ready to discover what secrets today would reveal.

I looked around, ready to embrace our adventure. Our small home, hugged by the encroaching woods, seemed as much a part of the landscape as the swaying pines and the sparkling streams.

Ready, boy? I signed, my fingers slicing through the morning air with an ease born from years of silent conversation. Malachi’s tail wagged in response, his golden eyes reflecting the light that slipped through the leaves.

We ventured deeper, the world around us alive with more shades of green than I could count, each one vibrant and pulsing with ancient magic. The forest was like an old friend, its secrets woven into the very fabric of our family’s history. Grandma Cheyenne’s stories resonated in my heart, tales of our ancestors who walked these paths, their spirits lingering in the sway of leaves and the gentle caress of the wind.

I reached out, tracing my fingers along the ragged bark of a cedar tree, feeling the grooves and knots like braille under my skin. They spoke of resilience, of years weathered and survived—much like the stories etched in Grandma’s laugh lines.

Grandma says the trees are the keepers of stories, I signed to Malachi, knowing he would understand.

With each step, the connection to my heritage deepened, a thread of energy pulling taut between the soles of my feet and the soul of the earth.

Remember the legend of the spirit guardians? I signed, glancing down at Malachi as he padded silently beside me. His ears twitched, a sign he was listening, even if he didn’t need to hear the words. They’re here, watching over us, just as Grandma said.

A movement of wings drew my gaze upward—a butterfly, its wings a mosaic of color that rivaled the blooms carpeting the forest floor. It danced on the breeze, weightless and free, a reminder of the delicate balance of this place—our home, our sanctuary.

Sometimes I wonder what they would say if the trees could talk to us directly, I continued, my hands moving with the rhythm of my thoughts. Would they tell us about the games our ancestors played among them? Would they whisper the names of those who came before?

Malachi nudged my hand with his nose, grounding me back to the present, to the reality of the enchanted woods that cradled our lives. I smiled and scratched behind his ears, grateful for his unspoken understanding.

Let’s go a little further, I urged, excitement bubbling within me. The forest held endless mysteries, and I felt compelled to uncover them, to weave myself deeper into the tapestry of my culture and the wild beauty that surrounded us.

Together, we delved into the heart of the woods, every sense alive with the knowledge that this ordinary world was anything but ordinary—to me, it was magical.

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Chapter 2 – Grandmother’s Tales

Sunbeams streamed through the weathered windowpanes, washing the puzzle pieces on the table in molten gold. I studied the fragments, my brows knitted, fingers dancing across the table, searching for connections yet unseen. Beside me, Grandma Cheyenne turned over each piece, appraising it.

I grinned as her wrinkled hand slid a piece into place, two jagged edges fusing seamlessly into one. She squeezed my shoulder, eyes alight behind wire-rimmed spectacles, the creases in her palms echoing the intricate patterns of the forest sweeping across the puzzle’s surface.

We whiled away the hours with our heads bowed in concentration, the wooden table bearing witness as a lush scene emerged piece by piece. More than just shapes and images, the fragments came alive with Grandma’s stories―tales of childhood adventures in these same emerald woods, long-slumbering legends stirring with each new connection forged from chaos.

In Grandma’s hands, every fragment held the promise of revelation. Remember, she signed, a twinkle in her warm eyes as she pointed to a fragment showing part of a deer, when you tried to feed a fawn from your hand last spring? Her hands fluttered like the wings of a butterfly, mimicking my excitement