Bibo scurried through the Zauberwald as golden leaves spiraled down around him.
The sky turned purple-too-fast. Bibo froze. His ears twitched at every creak of a settling branch.
Bibo burrowed under a carpet of amber leaves, curling his tail around his nose. A distant owl called — too early, too loud.
His paws dug into the damp earth beneath him. 'Not yet,' he thought. 'Not yet.'
Bibo spotted the tallest pine on the hill, its top lost in glowing mist. His whiskers quivered.
Something in the wind seemed to push him forward. Bibo climbed — claw over claw, up the rough bark.
Until he reached the highest branch and the forest opened below him. The sky was deep blue, streaked with clouds drifting slow and easy.
One cloud curled into a shape that looked just like his favourite woolly hat. Bibo stopped shaking.
The wind smelled like pine needles and possibility. Bibo settled into the crook of the branch, tail wrapped around him like a blanket.
Below, the trees blaze red and gold. He knew — really knew — that the forest would always be his home.