Nib stood a little apart from the ring of children, hands tucked behind his back, pretending he wasn’t listening quite as intently as he was. He’d heard this tale dozens of times—enough to recite it backwards if pressed—but he always waited for some new scrap about the Dragonspire Peaks or the shadowy wilds of Thistlebriar Territory. Stars above, what he wouldn’t give to see something beyond Mossveil’s quiet meadows and moss-draped trees.
Not that he disliked Mossveil. Mossveil was lovely: peaceful, predictable, the sort of place where the bread always rose and the clouds never arrived in a hurry. But nothing ever happened. Folks woke, did their chores, ate their meals, chatted with neighbors, and tucked themselves in again as if life were a quilt pattern they’d agreed not to disturb. Didn’t anyone long for something different? A hint of the unexpected?
The story ended, and the clearing slowly unfurled into its usual evening routine. Parents scooped up their littles and guided them homeward. Older youngsters and a handful of singles gravitated toward the glowing embers, settling in for soft conversation. Someone produced a jug of wine; someone else passed around cups. Juniper drew her lute onto her knee, tuning the strings with delicate precision. Nib hoped—hoped—she’d sing. When Juniper allowed herself to, her voice was sweet as warm honey.
With a sigh, he joined the cluster around the fire.
“A good story tonight,” remarked Fennel, carving away at a block of wood. He always carved; Nib suspected he even carved in his sleep.
“What’cha makin’?” Nib asked, peering at the rabbit’s latest marvel.
“Well, it’s meant to be a sort of toy,” Fennel said proudly. “See here—this piece fits in and tightens this band, which holds these gears, and once I add this pin you can press this button and it’ll—”
He never finished. The contraption exploded into an impressive spray of strings, gears, cogs, and at least two items Nib was sure hadn’t existed a moment ago.
“It’s not quite done yet,” Fennel murmured, ears folding modestly as he scrambled to collect the fallout.
Nib hid a grin and helped. “Looks real interesting, though.”
Fennel gave him a sheepish smile and began sorting his miniature avalanche. “You heading to River Root next week? They’re looking for a few extra paws to help with the wagons. Big harvest—lots to trade.”
“Oh, most like,” Nib said around a yawn. “Better than sittin’ about here. Don’t you ever get bored, Fen? Don’t you ever dream of seein’ more of the world?”
“Hm?” Fennel blinked. “Maybe now and again, but not too much. Plenty here to keep me busy.” He held up a fistful of mismatched gears as proof. “Besides, it’s dangerous out there. Like the Storyteller says, ‘best admired from a very long distance,’ right?”
“I s’pose.”
Just then, Juniper began to sing.
Her voice slid gently into the night, the melody curling like smoke through the trees:
There’s a map on my table with the edges curled,
Calling me softly to the edge of the world.
My boots tap the floor like they’re itching to roam,
Her song wove longing and comfort together like twin threads. The fire crackled; the forest held its breath. Nib drank in every word, every note, every glow of meaning—
Adventure sings its golden tune—
But home hums low beneath the moon.
I dream of wild forests and a star-strewn sky,
Of roads that feel endless when the night drifts by.
Yet the thought of warm lamplight through my old front door
Makes me linger a moment, wanting both a little more.
Oh, I’m halfway homeward bound,
And halfway chasing dreams around.
With one foot on the doorstep still,
And one on some far-off hill.
So I’ll wander just enough to feel the wind in my soul,
Then follow that soft, steady pull back home.
For a heart can hold two loves true—
The world out there… and returning to you.
When she finished, the group applauded softly, reverently. Nib rose and approached the shy mouse, who was already ducking her head as though bracing for praise.
“Did you write that?” he asked.
Juniper’s ears heated to a rosy pink. “I… yes.”
“It was wonderful.”
“I… th-thanks.”
And then she darted away, vanishing into the dark toward her burrow.
Nib watched her go, warmth blooming in his chest. Then he turned for home, humming her song under his breath and dreaming—boldly now—of far-off hills, endless roads, and the possibility of both adventure and hearth waiting for him, somewhere ahead.
