A story
Fenna the Otter and the Missing Stepping Stone
Fenna was a young river otter with sleek brown fur, quick little paws, and whiskers that twitched whenever she was excited. She lived in a cozy den under the roots of a willow tree, right where the river bent like an elbow.
Fenna loved many things. She loved sliding down the muddy bank. She loved floating on her back in the warm afternoon sun. But most of all, Fenna loved stones.
She had a whole collection of them in the back of her den. There was a pink stone with white stripes. There was a black stone as smooth as a raindrop. There was a tiny green stone that glowed a little when the light touched it. Every evening, Fenna lined them up in a neat row and counted them. "One, two, three..." all the way up to twenty-two.
One bright morning, Fenna dived into the shallow part of the river. Little silver fish darted between the reeds. Then, just near the bank, she saw it.
It was the most beautiful stone she had ever seen. It was big and flat and round, like a plate. It was grey, but when the sunlight danced on it, it shimmered blue and gold. A thin line of sparkly white ran across the middle, like a shooting star.
"Oh!" gasped Fenna, and a stream of bubbles rose from her nose. "You will be the best stone in my whole collection!"
The stone was heavy. Fenna had to push and roll and tug. At last, she wiggled it free from the riverbed and carried it all the way home. She placed it right in the middle of her row of stones. It looked like a queen sitting among her friends.
"Twenty-three," Fenna whispered happily. She curled up beside it and smiled.
That afternoon, Fenna heard a small, worried voice outside her den.
"Oh dear, oh dear. Where has it gone?"
Fenna poked her head out. On the riverbank stood a little field mouse with a basket of seeds. Next to her were three tiny mouse children, holding paws in a row.
"Hello," said Fenna. "Is something wrong?"
The mother mouse sighed. "My name is Hollis," she said. "Every day, we cross the river to visit Grandmother Mouse. We hop from stone to stone. There is a big flat stone in the middle. It is the only one wide enough for my little ones to rest on. But today it is gone! Without it, the jump is much too far."
The smallest mouse sniffed. "I wanted to give Grandmother the poppy seeds I saved," he said in a tiny voice.
Fenna felt her tummy go tight and wobbly. She looked at the river. She could see the line of stepping stones. One, two, and then a big empty space where the water swirled. Then three, four, and the other bank.
A big flat stone. In the middle. Fenna knew exactly where that stone was. It was sitting in her den like a queen.
"I... I will help you look," Fenna said quickly, and her cheeks felt hot.
She swam up and down the river, pretending to search. She peeked under lily pads. She looked behind the reeds. But all the time, she was thinking about her beautiful stone, with its blue and gold shimmer and its shooting-star line.
"Maybe they can find another way," she told herself. "Maybe they can visit Grandmother another day."
But when she swam back, the mouse family was still sitting on the bank. The three little mice were leaning against their mother. The smallest one was holding his packet of poppy seeds very carefully, as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Fenna went inside her den. She sat in front of her stones and looked at the big one for a long, long time.
It was still beautiful. But somehow, it did not make her smile anymore. Every time she looked at it, she thought of the empty space in the river and the little mouse with his poppy seeds.
"A stepping stone is not much use in a den," Fenna said slowly. "It is a stone for feet, not for counting."
She took a deep breath. Then she pushed the big stone out of the den, down the bank, and into the water. It was just as heavy as before. She pushed and rolled and tugged.
At last, she reached the empty space in the middle of the river. With one last push, she settled the stone back into its place on the riverbed. Its flat top peeked out of the water, shining in the sun.
Then Fenna swam to the bank where the mice were waiting. Her ears were low.
"Hollis," she said, "I have to tell you something. I found your stone this morning. I did not know it was a stepping stone. I thought it was just a pretty stone, and I took it home. When you told me it was missing, I should have told you right away. I am sorry."
The mice were quiet. Fenna held her breath.
Then Hollis smiled a soft, warm smile. "Thank you for telling the truth," she said. "That was brave. And thank you for bringing it back. It must have been very heavy."
"It was," said Fenna, and she laughed a little, because her heart suddenly felt as light as a feather.
One by one, the mice hopped across the stones. Hop, hop, and then they rested on the big flat stone in the middle. The smallest mouse sat down on it and patted it. "It's sparkly," he squeaked.
"It is the best stone in the whole river," said Fenna.
Before the mice hopped on, Hollis turned around. "Fenna," she called, "would you like to come with us? Grandmother Mouse makes the most wonderful seed cakes."
So Fenna swam beside them all the way across. Grandmother Mouse had a little round house in the roots of a hawthorn tree. She gave everyone warm seed cakes and cups of dandelion tea. The smallest mouse gave her the poppy seeds, and she hugged him tight.
That evening, Fenna went home. She lined up her stones and counted them. "Twenty-two," she said.
But the next morning, when she swam past the stepping stones and saw the mice hopping across, waving their tiny paws at her, she knew that the shimmering stone in the middle of the river was still, in a way, part of her collection. It was simply the part she shared.
Fenna loved many things. She loved sliding down the muddy bank. She loved floating on her back in the warm afternoon sun. But most of all, Fenna loved stones.
She had a whole collection of them in the back of her den. There was a pink stone with white stripes. There was a black stone as smooth as a raindrop. There was a tiny green stone that glowed a little when the light touched it. Every evening, Fenna lined them up in a neat row and counted them. "One, two, three..." all the way up to twenty-two.
One bright morning, Fenna dived into the shallow part of the river. Little silver fish darted between the reeds. Then, just near the bank, she saw it.
It was the most beautiful stone she had ever seen. It was big and flat and round, like a plate. It was grey, but when the sunlight danced on it, it shimmered blue and gold. A thin line of sparkly white ran across the middle, like a shooting star.
"Oh!" gasped Fenna, and a stream of bubbles rose from her nose. "You will be the best stone in my whole collection!"
The stone was heavy. Fenna had to push and roll and tug. At last, she wiggled it free from the riverbed and carried it all the way home. She placed it right in the middle of her row of stones. It looked like a queen sitting among her friends.
"Twenty-three," Fenna whispered happily. She curled up beside it and smiled.
That afternoon, Fenna heard a small, worried voice outside her den.
"Oh dear, oh dear. Where has it gone?"
Fenna poked her head out. On the riverbank stood a little field mouse with a basket of seeds. Next to her were three tiny mouse children, holding paws in a row.
"Hello," said Fenna. "Is something wrong?"
The mother mouse sighed. "My name is Hollis," she said. "Every day, we cross the river to visit Grandmother Mouse. We hop from stone to stone. There is a big flat stone in the middle. It is the only one wide enough for my little ones to rest on. But today it is gone! Without it, the jump is much too far."
The smallest mouse sniffed. "I wanted to give Grandmother the poppy seeds I saved," he said in a tiny voice.
Fenna felt her tummy go tight and wobbly. She looked at the river. She could see the line of stepping stones. One, two, and then a big empty space where the water swirled. Then three, four, and the other bank.
A big flat stone. In the middle. Fenna knew exactly where that stone was. It was sitting in her den like a queen.
"I... I will help you look," Fenna said quickly, and her cheeks felt hot.
She swam up and down the river, pretending to search. She peeked under lily pads. She looked behind the reeds. But all the time, she was thinking about her beautiful stone, with its blue and gold shimmer and its shooting-star line.
"Maybe they can find another way," she told herself. "Maybe they can visit Grandmother another day."
But when she swam back, the mouse family was still sitting on the bank. The three little mice were leaning against their mother. The smallest one was holding his packet of poppy seeds very carefully, as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Fenna went inside her den. She sat in front of her stones and looked at the big one for a long, long time.
It was still beautiful. But somehow, it did not make her smile anymore. Every time she looked at it, she thought of the empty space in the river and the little mouse with his poppy seeds.
"A stepping stone is not much use in a den," Fenna said slowly. "It is a stone for feet, not for counting."
She took a deep breath. Then she pushed the big stone out of the den, down the bank, and into the water. It was just as heavy as before. She pushed and rolled and tugged.
At last, she reached the empty space in the middle of the river. With one last push, she settled the stone back into its place on the riverbed. Its flat top peeked out of the water, shining in the sun.
Then Fenna swam to the bank where the mice were waiting. Her ears were low.
"Hollis," she said, "I have to tell you something. I found your stone this morning. I did not know it was a stepping stone. I thought it was just a pretty stone, and I took it home. When you told me it was missing, I should have told you right away. I am sorry."
The mice were quiet. Fenna held her breath.
Then Hollis smiled a soft, warm smile. "Thank you for telling the truth," she said. "That was brave. And thank you for bringing it back. It must have been very heavy."
"It was," said Fenna, and she laughed a little, because her heart suddenly felt as light as a feather.
One by one, the mice hopped across the stones. Hop, hop, and then they rested on the big flat stone in the middle. The smallest mouse sat down on it and patted it. "It's sparkly," he squeaked.
"It is the best stone in the whole river," said Fenna.
Before the mice hopped on, Hollis turned around. "Fenna," she called, "would you like to come with us? Grandmother Mouse makes the most wonderful seed cakes."
So Fenna swam beside them all the way across. Grandmother Mouse had a little round house in the roots of a hawthorn tree. She gave everyone warm seed cakes and cups of dandelion tea. The smallest mouse gave her the poppy seeds, and she hugged him tight.
That evening, Fenna went home. She lined up her stones and counted them. "Twenty-two," she said.
But the next morning, when she swam past the stepping stones and saw the mice hopping across, waving their tiny paws at her, she knew that the shimmering stone in the middle of the river was still, in a way, part of her collection. It was simply the part she shared.
