Brindleleaf
Brindleleaf knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into her favorite moonlit clearing. The moss should have glowed silver. Instead, it sat beneath the stars in a dull blanket of gray.
She blinked.
The moon hung full and bright above the trees. It seemed healthy enough. Yet the pools of moonlight that usually gathered across the forest floor had vanished.
Brindleleaf lowered her head and sniffed the moss. It smelled like moss. She looked up again. The moon was still there.
"Hmm."
A rabbit hopped past.
"Have you noticed anything strange?" Brindleleaf asked.
"The moon is missing," said the rabbit.
Brindleleaf looked up. The moon remained exactly where it belonged.
A squirrel darted down a nearby trunk. "The moon fell out of the sky," he announced confidently.
"It did?" asked Brindleleaf.
"Absolutely." The squirrel pointed toward the moon. "There it is."
Brindleleaf stared at him. The squirrel stared back. Then he scampered away. Brindleleaf continued her search
Near a patch of ferns, she found her first clue, tiny glowing footprints.
One set.
Then three.
Then twenty.
The trail wound through the forest in loops and spirals, doubling back on itself so often that Brindleleaf found herself passing the same mushroom four times. At last, the footprints led her to an old hollow beneath the roots of a fallen oak. Brindleleaf peeked inside.
Hundreds of tiny jars filled the space from floor to ceiling. Each one held moonlight.
Sprites zipped between them in excited circles.
"We saved it!" one shouted.
"It was everywhere!" cried another.
"No one was organizing it!" added a third.
Brindleleaf stared.
The sprites stared back.
One proudly lifted a jar. Inside, a beam of moonlight swirled like silver smoke.
"You took all the moonlight?"
"We protected it."
"From what?"
The sprites exchanged confused glances. After a moment, one shrugged. "We didn't get that far."
Brindleleaf sighed.
Outside, the forest had grown unusually dark. Moonflowers remained closed. Night moths drifted aimlessly through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, an owl flew directly into a bush and complained loudly about it.
The sprites looked concerned. "We were helping."
"I know," said Brindleleaf.
She thought for a moment. Then her ears lifted. "A game."
Every sprite froze. "A game?" they whispered together.
"The winner gets the brightest moonbeam in the forest."
The hollow exploded into cheers. The sprites immediately uncorked every jar.
Moonlight burst into the air. Silver streams poured through the roots and branches, racing back into the night. The forest brightened all at once as pools of moonlight returned to moss, stone, and leaf.
The sprites chased the escaping beams in every direction.
Brindleleaf watched them go.
A single shaft of moonlight settled across a patch of clover nearby. The brightest moonbeam in the forest.
The sprites returned moments later. "You won!" they shouted.
Brindleleaf looked at the moonlit clover. Then at the sprites. Then back at the clover.
"Imagine that," she said.
The sprites declared the game a tremendous success. And by morning, every jar was empty.