The path had always been narrow, though not restrictively so. It was a single-file route that passed between two stones, curved around the root of the birch, and continued toward the low clearing where nothing in particular occurred. By midday its width had increased. Not dramatically, but by a measurable margin.

Lena the vole noticed because she preferred the left edge. The grass there had always brushed her whiskers at a predictable point. Today there was air. She stopped. “The lateral boundary has shifted.”

Otis the thrush landed beside the birch root and examined the soil. “Margins fluctuate.” “This margin has increased.” Otis studied the ground more carefully. The center of the path had thinned slightly, and the grasses along the edge leaned outward. “It appears accommodating,” he said. “It was not consulted,” Lena replied.

A beetle crossed the widened section without slowing. Lena watched closely. “Previously, crossing required intention.” “Perhaps intention is now optional.” “That is precisely the concern.”

The wind moved through the grasses and the edges bent outward before settling again. A squirrel ran through the path at speed. He did not funnel into the center and did not adjust his stride. He ran diagonally across the widened corridor. Lena inhaled slowly. “That maneuver was not structurally possible last week.”

Otis hopped to the center of the path and looked down from above. “From this position,” he called, “the central corridor measures wider by a consistent margin.” “That is not a measurement.” “It is observable.” He paused. “It is also rather good, from up here.” Lena looked at him.

“The sightlines have improved considerably,” Otis said. “One can see quite far in both directions.” “That was not the purpose of the path.” “No,” Otis agreed. “But it is a benefit of its current condition.”

Lena walked to the former left edge and placed her paw where the boundary had once been. The grass did not meet her whiskers. She turned once and looked down the path. “If width increases,” she said carefully, “route selection may fragment.” “Or distribute,” Otis said, scratching lightly at the soil with one claw.

Lena stepped into the middle of the path and stood there. Nothing destabilized. Nothing corrected. The path held its new width. “It feels exposed,” she said. “Yes,” Otis said, still looking down the corridor with evident interest. “Quite open.”

They remained still for a moment. The path did not narrow. It offered no correction and did not continue expanding.

Harlan the beetle crossed the widened section without stopping. He did not remark on the width. As he passed he noted, to no one in particular, that the northern surface remained green. Then he continued toward the tree line.

Gerald the squirrel crossed next, moving at his usual uneven pace. He stopped at the center of the widened path and looked down. He took one step left. One step right. He pressed one paw against the ground and held it there. “Indecisive,” he said quietly, to no one in particular. Then he continued on his way.

After a moment, Lena walked to the left edge one more time. She stood where the grass had always reached her. It did not reach her. She remained there briefly, whiskers in open air. Then she walked straight forward without choosing a side. The soil remained firm.

Behind them Otis remained at the center of the path a moment longer, looking down its length in both directions. Then he lifted and was gone.

The Bureau entered a notation:

Boundary Drift — Transit Division

Subclass: Incremental Broadening

See also: File 1, Gradual Encroachment — Damp Division.

No containment was issued.

By evening the path remained wider. By morning it was used that way. The left edge remained unoccupied. The grass had not moved. There was simply more air between it and where she had always been.

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