Bram’s Flag for Home — At the edge of the hill schoolyard, a blank pennant snapped in Bram’s paw: flap, flap, flap. Read the full story →
At the edge of the hill schoolyard, a blank pennant snapped in Bram’s paw: flap, flap, flap. He had made himself a little challenge—walk past the last clump of grass, touch the white road stone, and come back before the bell sang. His backpack bumped his stripes as he stepped beyond the place where the playground dust smelled warm and familiar.
The road stone was farther than it looked. Wind tugged the pennant sideways, and a field mouse shivered beside a puddle, unable to cross the muddy stripe of water. Bram’s stomach growled. He pulled the oat cake from his pocket, broke it into soft crumbs, and made a tiny stepping trail. “You can hop where I hopped,” he whispered. The mouse crossed; Bram crossed too, but his snack was gone.
On the way back, the mouse dipped its paws in berry juice and pressed one small print on Bram’s blank flag. At the schoolyard, the bell hummed low and golden. Bram waved the pennant, not to prove he had gone far, but because the hill, the grass, the little roof, and even the wind seemed to wave back: flap, flap, flap.
