Mos hovered motionless above a ring of purple meadow flowers, wings perfectly still, mapping the exact angle for his landing. He lowered himself with practiced precision. A yellow blur slammed into the cluster. Petals spun into the grass.
The yellow blur bounced up and down on six legs. Mos pressed his front legs together in a tight frustrated knot. 'Sorry! I saw something shiny and then I was just — wow, look at all the flowers!' The companion's eyes were wide and bright.
Mos spotted his prize: a single deep-red blossom on the far side of a thorny bramble patch. Nectar glistened under the sun. 'I'll go first,' he thought, and began threading through the narrow gaps with slow deliberate care.
The companion cracked his wings with excitement and dove through a gap Mos had just cleared. A blast of wind hit the red blossom. It caught on a thorn, swaying just out of reach. Mos stared. The flower trembled.
Mos found a long blade of grass and carefully pushed it toward the flower like a bridge. The companion zoomed to the other side and started pushing from below with all his might. The grass snapped back. It tickled the antennae.
The grass snapped back and tickled the antennae until a sneeze escaped. Mos tumbled sideways into a clump of clover. The companion offered a tiny apologetic bow from the other side of the thorny gap.
Mos landed on a smooth leaf above the thorns and began lowering a silk thread he had spun. Loop by careful loop, the thread drifted toward the dangling red blossom. The companion saw the plan and zipped down to hold the thread steady.
Quito's sudden weight yanked the whole line. The blossom wobbled dangerously close to a sharp thorn tip. Mos froze. He calculated. Then his body zigzagged — a quick redirect — and the thread looped the blossom free.
The companion's legs let go. Both of them dropped. They tumbled through the brambles in a tangle of wings and legs. The world became green blur and sharp points and the sound of rustling leaves.
They landed in a soft heap beside the red flower. Petals brushed their sides. The warm meadow sun painted everything gold. Mos brushed a thorn fragment from his shoulder and looked at the companion. The companion was already pointing.
'That one looks important,' said the companion, pointing at a dandelion clock three feet away. Mos didn't tell him to wait. He just took off. Wings humming. The companion zoomed after him into the tall grass.
Into the tall grass they went. The meadow stretched out ahead — endless green and gold, purple flowers in every direction. Mos led the way. The companion followed, zooming, bouncing, already seeing the next shiny thing.
