Stories

It was a day that didn’t quite know what it wanted to be. Not summer, not autumn, just somewhere between, like the breath before a story begins. The trees still held their green, but the air had shifted. It was quieter, softer, and carried something restless. Something watching.

Pollox felt it first.

They were returning from the lake trail—Lumi at the front, nose low and confident; Woodbine trotting behind, ears flicking at every birdcall; and Pollox weaving along the path, the wind brushing joyfully against his fur.

Then the trail curved—where it never had before.
Pollox slowed. The breeze brushed past him again, but it didn’t nudge him forward the way it usually did. It twisted. Circled. Curled like laughter.

He stopped.
“This isn’t mine,” he murmured.
Lumi turned, puzzled. “What?”
Pollox sniffed. “The wind. It’s… laughing.”

And then they saw it. Just ahead, the path forked. Three trails, none familiar. Left, right, and center—each one slightly wrong. The trees leaned in close. Shadows sat oddly across the ground. The whole forest held its breath.


They hesitated.
“This one smells right,” Lumi said, pointing her nose toward the middle.
“This one sounds right,” Woodbine countered, ear tilted toward the rightmost path, where water trickled faintly.
Pollox didn’t say anything. He stared down the left trail.
It tugged at him. Not like his wind. Like a dare.

None of them wanted to admit they were unsure. So they split up—just for a little while. To check. To be sure.

---

Pollox padded softly along the left-hand trail, ears twitching. The wind followed, but it moved like someone pretending to be his friend—too light, too clever, not quite true.
Then something rolled past him.
Pollox blinked.
It was his Perfect Ball.

He hadn’t brought it. He knew he hadn’t brought it.

It bounced once, then rolled gently into a patch of brambles. A breeze picked up behind him. Too fast. Too eager.
He froze. The ball sat in a little pool of golden light.
He knew better.
He chased it anyway.

It was a dizzy, bouncing, wild kind of chase—through underbrush and around a log, over a puddle, under a low branch that gave him a leafy slap in the face.
And when he finally leapt for it—splat!
He slid face-first into a patch of damp moss with a loud thump.
The ball gently rolled back and stopped in front of him.
The wind shifted. It brushed past him, and this time… it felt like his wind again. Familiar. Steady. Real.
Somewhere behind him, a rustle of laughter stirred the leaves.

---

Lumi trusted her paws. She knew the land. If there was a wrong path, she wouldn’t take it.
“I know this is the way,” she muttered, pressing forward along the center trail. Her steps were sure. She didn’t pause.
Even when the branches overhead grew lower. Even when the trees crowded closer.
She ducked once—then stood up too soon.

Thunk.
A tangle of twigs and leaves caught her ears, tail, and most of her pride. She backed up fast, spitting out a mouthful of leaf. Somehow, she was wearing an entire branch.
She huffed, shook herself out, and stood tall—though the leaves clung like medals.
Somewhere nearby, a tiny cairn of stones collapsed with a sound like quiet applause.

---

The right-hand trail sang with the sound of water. Gentle. Familiar.
Woodbine followed, nose on the ground, calm and focused. Water didn’t lie. It always pointed somewhere.

But the trail rose.
The stream, still out of sight, trickled uphill.
That was wrong. But the sound was strong—tempting.
He pressed on, rounding a bend—and found a tiny stream circling a moss-covered rock. Over and over. The sound never stopped, never changed.
He frowned.

He leaned forward to sniff—and slid nose-first into a boggy puddle.
It was cold. And deep. And full of old leaves and a single, drooping mushroom that seemed to stare at him with quiet dismay.
A bubble rose. Popped like a gentle chuckle.
Woodbine closed his eyes.
He sighed.

---

They all returned to the fork at once.
Lumi was covered in leaves. Woodbine dripped slightly. Pollox was muddy, bramble-scratched, and held his ball very tightly.
They looked at one another. Held it for a beat.
And then—all at once—they laughed.

Not polite chuckles. Real, helpless, breathless laughter. The kind where you just have to roll on the ground. The laugher that comes when you’ve been outsmarted so thoroughly you just have to admire it.

And that’s when they saw her.
A red fox perched on a log just off the trail. One white ear. A tail that flickered like mist.
Her eyes shifted—gold to green to blue.
“Now that,” said the fox, “was fun.”
And with a flick of her tail, she vanished.

---

They didn’t speak much on the way home.
The wind was quiet again—familiar and warm.
The trees leaned back into their ordinary shapes. The trail unfolded as if it had always been there. As if the fork had never existed.

But when they reached the village, Tara was already waiting by the fire.
She looked at them—muddy, leafy, soggy—and lifted her nose. Inhaled.
Then she smiled.

Slowly, she turned her gaze toward the trees beyond the clearing, where the firelight met the shadows.
“Hello, Veija,” she said. “How are you, old friend?”

There was a pause.
And then the fox stepped forward, tail glowing faintly at the edges, one white ear catching the moonlight, eyes shimmering golden, a broad grin on her face.
She looked at the dogs, all three of them sitting in quiet confusion and dignity beneath their leaf, mud, and puddle stains.

“They passed,” she said. “Eventually.” Her grin curled. “You’ve raised them well.”

Tara inclined her head. “They’re not mine. Just the right ones for the path.”

“Still,” Veija said, pawing once at the earth, “it’s nice when they laugh.”

Tara smiled gently. “You always did like laughter more than wisdom.”

“Is there a difference?” Veija replied, already turning.

She walked three steps into the firelight—and vanished between one blink and the next, like mist curling back into the trees.

The clearing fell quiet again.
Pollox gave a little shake, flinging off the last clump of moss. Lumi sniffed the air. Woodbine sat down with a soft, contented huff.

Tara looked at them, her eyes kind and bright.
“Come,” she said. “You’ve earned a warm place and a good story.”

And behind them, the wind shifted one last time—cool, playful, and full of laughter.