The grass was warm where the sun had been, and the air still held a little cool. A small, round pebble sat in the middle of the grass. Bracken found it and tapped it—tap… tap.

Peeba waddled over, crumbs still on his whiskers. “Can you eat it?” he asked. “No,” Bracken said, “but it wants to go somewhere.”

Peeba tapped it. “It moved,” he said. They nudged the pebble together until it stopped beside a patch of clover. Bracken’s ears lifted. “This spot feels nice.” Peeba sniffed. “Mmm. It smells like resting.”

They sat beside it, the clover soft beneath them, the breeze moving through with a low hush. Thimble crouched nearby, watching the ground, and Rill slid past, then circled back and stopped.

Something shifted in the clover.

Peeba’s nose twitched first. “Mmm,” he said. “Something busy.” Bracken leaned in. “Something is hiding.”

A tiny ladybug climbed a stem. “Oh,” Bracken said softly. “There it is.”

The ladybug opened its wings, then closed them, then opened them again—a soft buzz. Peeba leaned back. “It was waiting,” he said.

They watched as the ladybug lifted, buzzed once, and disappeared.

Along the edge of the meadow, the light began to move, and a cool patch of shade stretched beneath the old oak. Bracken stepped into it. “It moves.” Peeba joined him. “It is very cool.”

Thimble watched the ground. “It slides.” Rill ran ahead, then stopped. “It follows.”

A cloud passed across the sun, and the shade stretched, then shrank, and settled again beneath the tree. A bird called once from the woods. Bracken’s ears turned toward it, then settled again.

They sat together in the cool shade. The light rested there. And the meadow rested too.

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