When the Glow Goes Out

Mira had been helping all evening.

She stood on a sandy patch in Juniper Gate Thicket, her blue scarf tucked close under her chin, and watched the lantern bug family light the safest path. Their tiny bodies usually glowed like warm little dots, showing where the roots dipped low and where the dry creek bed could be crossed without a slip. Mira liked that job. It made the forest feel friendly.

But tonight, just as dusk deepened the leaves to gray-green, the glow blinked out.

One lantern bug vanished into the shadow of the split stone. Another tucked under the low arch of tangled roots. The smallest one pressed flat beside a pine cone and stayed dark. Mira’s bright black eyes followed the path from one dim bend to the next. Without those lights, the safe way looked nearly the same as the risky one.

Then she heard it too: a new rustling sound moving through the leaves, soft but strange, like something was walking where she could not see it.

The lantern bugs heard it as well. Their little bodies trembled, and none of them came out to glow.

Mira took one careful step forward, then stopped. If she called out too loudly, she might scare them more. If she waited, the path would stay dark. She could try to reach the hiding lantern bugs, or she could follow the rustling sound and find out what was making it. But she could not do both at once.