Milo had counted on the lantern mushrooms to guide the way home.
He stood near the soft, pillowed ground between the two beech trees, his moss-green scarf tucked close, his bright eyes flicking from one familiar glow to the next. The blue lantern mushrooms were supposed to mark the safest path along the stream. The gold ones in the tree hollows were meant to show where the older tunnels curved under the roots. The pink ones under the roots pointed toward the shortcut that led past the hollow stump and back to the nest lanes before dark.
But tonight, every color was in the wrong place.
Blue shone from the paths. Gold glimmered from the tree hollows. Pink glowed under the roots like little bits of sunset trapped underground. The hollow looked cheerful about it, as if someone had turned the whole place into a game and forgotten to hand out the rules.
Tobin was already waiting with a tiny bundle of supplies tied neatly with a blade of grass, and Fern had just popped out from beside the stream, her shiny eyes fixed on the strange lights.
Milo pressed one paw against the mossy ground and looked from one glow to the next. If he chose wrong, he might send everyone wandering farther into dusk. If he waited too long, the light would fade even more.
The old shortcuts were still there. They just did not seem to mean what they meant a moment ago.
Milo had to decide what to trust first: the blue path, the gold hollows, the pink roots, or his own careful nose.
What happens next?
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