Rex stood in the birthday clearing, staring at the drooping streamers. One purple balloon had already gone flat. The cake was supposed to be here by now. Bramble was supposed to be here by now. Rex sniffed the air — pine needles and fern sap, but no cake. No Bramble. No birthday at all.
He stomped to the edge of the Fernwood and stopped. The ferns were enormous — taller than his knees, taller than his belly — a whole green wall of them. Rex stretched out his tiny arms and pushed. The ferns did not care. They sprang right back and bopped him on the nose. Stomp, stomp, stomp — Rex pushed in anyway. He couldn't see over the ferns. He couldn't push them aside. But he could LISTEN. Rex went very still. And there it was — a faint, faraway sound. Swaaay. Swaaay. A three-tiered birthday cake with candles makes a very specific wobbling sound, and Rex had found it.
He followed the sway deeper into the Fernwood, crushing twigs underfoot, until he nearly walked straight into someone walking in a very careful circle. It was Spike the Stegosaurus, his plates all puffed up with dignity. "Hello, Spike," said Rex. "Are you lost?" "Absolutely not," said Spike. "I am exploring. In circles. On purpose." He made the circle again to prove it. The circle went precisely nowhere. Rex did not argue. "Come help me find Bramble," he said. "I'll explain on the way." Spike fell in beside him, still looking extremely purposeful, and together they followed the sway. Stomp, stomp, stomp — deeper and deeper into the green.
The ferns thinned out into a mossy hollow, and there was Bramble — enormous and still, the giant cake balanced perfectly on top of her head like an extremely delicious hat. She hadn't moved because something tiny was sitting on top of the cake. A Pterodactyl, small as a pinecone, wings folded smugly. "That's Fig," Bramble said, in a very careful not-moving voice. "She thinks the candles are campfires. She says she's found the best campsite in the forest." Rex looked up. Way, way up. Fig was far above even Bramble's neck, inspecting a candle with enormous satisfaction. Rex's tiny arms dangled at his sides. He could not reach Fig. He could not even reach Bramble's chin.
So Rex stood on his tiptoes, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted — very politely — all the way up. "Excuse me! Fig! Would you like a proper seat at a birthday party? There are streamers. And a flat purple balloon." Fig tilted her head. She considered this for a long moment. Then she spread her wings and lifted off the cake in one sharp gust of air that blew Rex's party hat clean sideways. Stomp, stomp, stomp — Fig shot forward through the trees like a tiny torch, leading the way. Bramble swayed after her, cake wobbling but somehow staying on. Spike marched behind with enormous purpose, as though he had planned this route himself all along. And Rex stomped happily at the back, party hat crooked, tiny arms swinging.
They burst into the birthday clearing — streamers, flat balloon, and all. The cake arrived tilted, the icing slightly smeared on one side, the candles still perfectly lit. Rex blew them all out in one enormous breath. The smoke curled up through the pine trees in a thin grey ribbon. Later, when the cake was mostly crumbs and Fig had fallen asleep on Bramble's nose and Spike had stopped pretending he knew where he was, Rex lay back in the soft grass. His feet were still. The clearing smelled like candle smoke and buttercream. Above him, one star appeared between the branches — small and sharp and bright.
