Pip poked his nose out of the burrow and took three wobbly steps onto the soft earth.
A dewdrop on a blade of grass threw a tiny rainbow on his spines. He reached for it — and it vanished.
Pip tiptoed to a towering bluebell and found a carpet of silver moss beneath it.
He rolled onto his back and the moss tickled his chin. 'Heehee!' A bluebell petal drifted down and landed on his nose.
Pip followed a sparkling stream and jumped from pebble to pebble.
His back foot slipped and — plop! — down he went on his bottom.
He scrambled up, trying to look very dignified — if your whiskers keep twitching, maybe you're not quite succeeding.
A sunset-coloured butterfly danced in circles above a thistle. Pip spun to follow — whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
The butterfly popped up and the first firefly blinked on in the grass. Then another. Then many.
The meadow became a field of tiny stars. Pip waddled home through the glowing light.
Pip paused at his burrow door and watched the fireflies drift over the stream. The air smelled cool and sweet.
Pip curled into a tight ball of quills — a sleepy little star — and dreamed of rainbows.