The Hoofbeat Under the Bridge — Every morning, Orla carried ribbon bundles up the cobbled road to Highspire Castle, clop-clop-clopping past pine sap, cold river spray, and the sleepy flags on the towers. Read the full story →
Every morning, Orla carried ribbon bundles up the cobbled road to Highspire Castle, clop-clop-clopping past pine sap, cold river spray, and the sleepy flags on the towers. She wanted the Summer Shout Festival to start on time, because the whole valley was waiting to cheer together. Until one day, the gate captain shook an empty bell rope. “No joy bell, no festival!” he groaned.
Because of that, Orla galloped back down the road, ribbons snapping like little sails. Because of that, she heard a bright ting-ting under her hooves as she crossed the stone bridge—not from the castle, but from below it. She scrambled to the riverbank, nosed aside cool moss, and found the missing bell wedged in a hidden arch where nobody had thought to look.
At last, Orla charged uphill with the bell bumping against her saddle, ringing louder than the river. The first peal burst over towers, pines, and snowy peaks, and every window flew open with answering shouts. If you trace the bridge stones with your eyes, can you spot the secret arch where joy began its clop-clop-clopping climb?
