Milo stood at the edge of Mossy Lantern Hollow with his moss-green scarf tucked tight under his chin and his bright eyes fixed on the path ahead. A ribbon of moonwater now cut across the middle of the woods, shining pale as milk in the dim light. It did not belong there. It had slipped over the ground where the path should have been, and now the whole hollow looked different, as if the trees were trying to remember themselves.
On the far side, the soft ground dipped toward the fallen log bridge, and the log gave a small wobble every time the stream brushed it. Ferns leaned in from both sides, damp and heavy. Even the water seemed busy, because it was showing things Milo could not see around him anymore: the hollow stump by the eastern edge, the cluster of pale mushrooms, and, just for a blink, the shape of Pippa’s tiny leaf pin flashing near the stream as if she were there and not there at once.
Milo took one careful step, then stopped. His tail curled tighter like a question mark. If that reflection meant his friends were somewhere nearby, he could not leave them out. But if he stepped onto the moonwater too quickly, he might miss what it was trying to show him—or tumble into a place that did not match the ground under his feet. He stared at the shining ribbon and had to decide whether to test it now, or call out first and find out who might answer.
What happens next?
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