Mira hurried along the Bramble Path with her nose close to the ground, counting the ripe acorns that had fallen for the shared feast. The windstorm had just passed, and the path still trembled now and then as blackberry canes clicked together overhead. Warm sun landed in broken gold on the roots and stones, but under the brambles the shade stayed cool and blue.
Mira liked counting things when they mattered. It helped her feel as if the world fit together neatly. But tonight the feast was waiting, and the acorns were not staying where they were supposed to stay.
One rolled out from beside a fat root and bumped into a leaf pile. Another had slipped halfway down into the rain-dark ditch, where mud made a soft sucking sound when Mira stepped near it. A third had vanished into a bramble tangle, where its brown shell was just barely visible between prickly stems.
Then Mira looked up and saw the waiting animals gathered farther along the path. Pip, the striped-tailed squirrel, was already pointing and chattering. Brindle, the muddy-pawed badger, was staring at the ditch like it had challenged her. And several more paws and noses were turning toward the scattered acorns too.
Mira’s chest tightened. The first few missing acorns had already started a scramble.
If she wanted the feast to stay fair, she would have to choose fast: search the bramble tangle first, reach for the one in the ditch, or hurry to the root gap before someone else claimed the wrong acorn.
What happens next?
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