Idaira stepped past the tree line as the forest swallowed the last pink light. Somewhere ahead, a thick branch cracked.
A pair of enormous green eyes blinked from behind a mossy stump. A shaggy shape with three wobbly legs lumbers forward.
The creature sneezes a puff of glittery pollen right into her face. Idaira gasps — her eyes water, she sneezes once, twice.
She bolts. Her small hand fists at her coat as she turns and runs.
She runs past twisted roots that snag at her ankles, past whispering leaves that rustle like crinkling paper.
She runs past a hollow log that echoes with a soft hoo hoo hoo. Her feet slap the dirt.
Her breath comes in quick little puffs, and the forest grows darker with every step.
Idaira bursts through the final row of trees and trips onto soft grass.
Golden sunlight wraps around her like a blanket. She looks up — someone is waiting at the tree line.
There — standing at the tree line with her arms wide open — is her mother.
Idaira doesn't even stop running. She launches straight into those arms and buries her face in a warm sweater.
It smells like bread. The forest is far behind now.