A blue butterfly drifted past an old pine. Matthew leaped after it, following until it dipped over a patch of clover. His ears perked at the whisper of wings, and his nose twitched at the sweet smell.
He chased the butterfly through a tangle of roots. Hop, sidestep, reach — just a little closer! The butterfly landed on a smooth stone. Matthew crept forward, but the stone rolled into the creek with a soft plink.
Matthew scrambled after the stone, but the bank was muddy. He slipped, slid, and landed on his bottom with a soft thump. His fur was damp. The butterfly fluttered just out of reach, and he called out — but only the creek answered.
Matthew tried to climb back up, but his claws slipped on the wet mud. He let out a small whimper as his paws dangled over the edge. Then — a warm nose booped his forehead. A rumbling voice said, "There you are."
Matthew's ears flattened, and he grabbed his father's fur. The forest seemed to grow very quiet.
They walked home through the evening air, which smelled of pine and damp earth. Matthew buried his face in his father's thick fur. His steps were steady, and Matthew's breathing slowed.
The trees grew closer together. The light turned soft and purple. Somewhere behind them, the creek still whispered over smooth stones.
They reached the den entrance — a wide dark opening beneath the roots of an ancient pine. The air inside was cool and safe. Matthew's father stepped aside, letting him go in first.
Inside, the den was warm and dim. His father followed close behind, his breathing slow and deep. The baby bear curled into the soft bed of dried leaves and moss, and his father settled beside him.
The father bear nuzzled him gently until Matthew's eyes closed. Outside, the last light faded from the pines, and the forest settled into quiet.