Tuck made his fern crown himself. He wove it very carefully, with the curly bits at the front and the flat bits at the back, and it made him look *extremely* official. So when the wind took it — whump — right off his head and dropped it in the big puddle at the edge of the forest, Tuck did not like that one bit. He stomped to the puddle's edge and leaned over to grab it. But there in the dark water was another raptor, also leaning over, also looking very concerned. "Excuse me," said Tuck. "That is my crown." The raptor in the water said nothing. It just stared. Tuck stared back. The crown floated between them, upside-down, going slowly round.
Stomp, stomp, stomp. Tuck had a mission. He stomped the forest path with his arms stretched wide, because that is how you look when you are solving something important. Dry leaves crunched under each foot. He needed help. He needed someone with longer arms, or a very good plan, or both.
The first raptor he found was Bram. Bram was standing in a patch of sun with a pinecone balanced on his head, and a large flat rock balanced on the pinecone, and a small stick balanced on the rock. "I need help," said Tuck. "My crown is in the puddle." Bram nodded slowly, very carefully, so the stack wouldn't fall. "You could borrow one of mine," he said helpfully. That was not helpful. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Tuck kept looking.
The second raptor Tuck found was Ogie. Or rather, he almost didn't find her, because she was so small she fit entirely behind a single fern. But he heard her sneeze. Ogie came out with a wet leaf already on her head. "I heard about your crown," she said. "I put this on in solidarity." The leaf drooped over one eye. She pushed it up. It drooped again. She beamed. The third raptor was harder. Tuck nearly walked past a lump of mossy rock — but the rock blinked. It was Skit, sitting perfectly still, pretending very hard to be geology. "I wasn't doing anything," said Skit, in a very flat voice, the moment Tuck looked at him. "You weren't supposed to see me." He stood up slowly, scattering a small beetle that had been walking across his back.
Back at the puddle, Ogie had already found a long stick and tied her wet leaf to the end. "I'll scoop it," she announced, and swept the stick in a wide arc. The crown wobbled. It lifted. It came free — and then Tuck grabbed for it, and fumbled, and it dropped back in with a soft plop and began to sink. Everyone went quiet. The puddle rippled in slow rings. A frog somewhere made one flat sound. Then Tuck remembered the raptor in the water. He leaned over carefully — not to argue this time, just to look. There, in the dark reflection, he could see exactly where the crown was, and exactly the right angle to reach. He stretched one arm in, felt the cold water close over his wrist, and his claws found something curly and flat. He pulled it out, dripping. He placed it on his head. It sat slightly crooked and smelled like puddle. It was perfect.
Then Tuck made three more crowns from the ferns at the puddle's edge and placed one on each head: Bram's very carefully, so the pinecone stack didn't fall; Ogie's over the wet leaf; and Skit's, who said "Fine" but held very still. Stomp, stomp, stomp — but slowly now, because a parade should be dignified. They processed through the forest in a single solemn line, crowned and official, going nowhere in particular, past the big tree and the smaller tree and the tree with the funny root. The moss underfoot was thick and springy. The light through the leaves went green and gold. One by one, their stomps got smaller, until they reached a wide soft patch and simply stopped, and sat, four very official raptors in a heap, ferns drooping, eyes half-closed, not moving at all.
