Fenn and the Borrowed Footprints — Every day, Fenn followed the dry rim of the watering hole, stretching his neck for the sweet reeds on the far side but never crossing the black, shiny mud. Read the full story →
Every day, Fenn followed the dry rim of the watering hole, stretching his neck for the sweet reeds on the far side but never crossing the black, shiny mud. It smelled like wet stone and old leaves, and when he poked it with one toe, it gulped, glop-glop, as if it wanted to keep him.
Until one day, a creature no bigger than Fenn’s eye popped from the reeds with mud on its beak and three wide toes on each foot. “Don’t step where it shines,” chirped the mudrunner, racing straight across the shore. Because of that, Fenn watched the tiny feet slap a curving trail: patter, skid, patter. Because of that, he lowered his head, matched one huge foot to each small print, and felt the mud tremble but hold.
Halfway across, the trail bent beside the water, and Fenn’s tail curled tight with worry. Finally, he took one more careful step, then another, until sweet reeds brushed his nose. Next time you spot those giant three-toed marks by the pond, see if you can trace the curving path that began with one tiny patter.