Nell Nettlewing hurried along the soft edge of Mosslight Fen with her blue ribbon tapping against her leg. She was trying very hard not to be late. Juniper Jell and Wick Willowcap were supposed to be waiting at the marsh edge, and Nell had promised she would be there in time to hear the frogs sing the hour.
Usually, the frogs in Mosslight Fen called out together like a warm, bumpy clock. One croak meant one thing. A whole chorus meant another. Nell listened for them as she stepped over wet moss and around black reed water, but the fen was strangely quiet.
No croaks. No ribbits. No sleepy little throat-sounds from the pools.
Nell stopped beside a leaning wooden post with a rusted orange rope ring. The pale mushrooms near the cattails glowed blue-green in the fading light, and the dragonflies hovered over the still water like tiny moon scraps. Everything looked the same as always, but without the frogs, the fen felt off-balance, as if someone had removed the hand from a clock.
She tilted her head and listened again.
Still nothing.
If Juniper and Wick were already waiting, she did not know where to look. If they were not there yet, she did not know how much time had passed. Nell took one careful step toward the marsh edge, then another, and found herself wishing the frogs would start up again—but they did not. Ahead of her, the path split around two glowing clumps of mushrooms, and Nell had to choose which way to go without the usual song to guide her.
What happens next?
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