The schoolhouse sat quiet at the forest edge, its wooden walls faded yellow. Daisies nodded along the winding dirt path. Inside, chairs squeaked and little feet thumped the tile floor.
Bramble's paws pressed into the dirt. She gripped the lavender apron string tight and planted herself. Her ears folded flat. She did not let go.
She slid down the back bench and tucked her nose under her chin. Around her, the others paired up and chattered. The bench scraped the floor as she sank lower.
'Hi!' waved the fox kid, tail flicking. Bramble raised her paw two inches. Then she yanked it back.
The door creaked open. A tiny wet tadpole waddled in, doing little circles on the tile floor. It bumped a leg. Bumped another. Looking for its seat.
Plop. The tadpole splatted flat against the fox kid's boot, then peeked up, completely unbothered. Two rows back, Bramble's ears popped straight forward.
Bramble scooped the small damp shape up in both paws and carried it to the sunny window, where the glass hummed warm.
'This is your seat?' the tadpole blinked. Bramble set it down on the sill. The tadpole wiggled its tail against the golden light.
Afternoon. Bramble broke a cracker in half and handed the bigger piece over the sill. The tadpole dipped its tail in the milk puddle and swished it back and forth.
'Will you sit here tomorrow?' Bramble grinned, ears straight up for the first time today. 'Yeah,' the tadpole said, tail curling in the milk.
