Mira hurried along the mossy trail in Juniper Gate Thicket, her little paws careful on the soft ground. She was going to check the tiny stream that fed the berry patches and frog ponds, because every drop mattered there. The stream usually whispered under the root arch near the split stone, where rain-marked rock and tangled roots made a small doorway in the path.
Today, the whisper was gone.
Mira slowed. The trail under her feet was dry and crackling, not cool and springy. The juniper shrubs around her still smelled sharp and clean, but the ground felt wrong. She peered ahead through the silver-bright needle leaves and saw the creek bed near the split stone. It should have held a thread of water. Instead, it was only pale dirt, pebbles, and a few stuck leaves.
Mira crept closer. The little stream had vanished right into the roots beside the arch, and nothing was running over the stones at all. She could see where the ground near the creek bed had gone dry too, as if the water had slipped underground and left everything waiting.
Mira stood very still. If she turned back now, she could tell Sela. If she kept looking, maybe she could find the hidden water herself. And if Pip was nearby, he might squeeze through places she could not. The dry creek bed waited in front of her, and Mira had to decide who to call first, if anyone.
What happens next?
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