Nell stood on the Cloudstep Rungs with both hands out, one palm pressed to a rail wrapped in faded cloth. Below her, pale clouds drifted like slow milk. Above her, the tower’s vines brushed softly in the bright air. Three nesting birds sat in a little row beside her basket, peeping at the moving boards as if the bridge had begun to wiggle on purpose.
“Easy now,” Nell whispered. She was guiding the birds across to the next platform, where their new nest waited under a dry beam. That was the plan. She had just checked the path a moment ago.
Then the wooden boards gave a small creak.
One rung slid down with a soft, rude bump.
Nell blinked. The rung behind her dropped lower, and the one ahead seemed farther away than it had been before. A narrow gap opened where the boards had been touching.
Mira, standing farther along with her bare feet curled over a rung, pointed down the bridge. “Nell. Look. It’s moving.”
Perri’s wind-bell gave a tiny chime at his belt as he leaned over the edge. “The section is slipping,” he said carefully, like he did not want to scare anyone. “One rung at a time.”
The birds heard the change too. One ducked its head under Nell’s shawl. Another began to shuffle sideways. Nell could feel the bridge shift under her feet, and now the slipping had reached the place where she and the birds were standing.
The safe path was already shorter. The open gap behind them was wider.
Nell took a quick breath, then looked from the birds to the next platform and back again. If she hurried them, they might panic. If she stayed too still, the rungs might keep sliding until someone was left behind.
What happens next?
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