Nutmeg scurried through golden leaves as the sun sank below the trees. The forest filled with deep blue shadows.
A twig snapped. Nutmeg froze, ears perked, then spotted his treehouse high in the oak. His tail curled tight around his leg. He decided to run for home.
Nutmeg dashed forward, but stopped at the first long shadow. An owl hooted somewhere above. He pressed flat against a pine tree, his claws scraping bark.
The night felt enormous. Nutmeg's paws wouldn't move.
Nutmeg tried a different way, tiptoeing slowly past ferns and fallen acorns. A pinecone rolled toward him and he nearly tripped.
When he looked up, Nutmeg gasped. The moonlight painted the path in bright silver streaks. It glowed under his feet like a ribbon.
Nutmeg took one small step into the silver path. The moonlight brightened around his paws. He took another step, then another.
The silver path stretched all the way to his treehouse. Nutmeg walked on, one careful step at a time.
Nutmeg walked home through the glowing silver path. His tail was held high and his paws clicked happily on the smooth moonlit ground.
The forest was dark, but Nutmeg was not afraid anymore.
The silver path led him right up to the old oak. Nutmeg scurried up the trunk and slipped inside his treehouse.
Inside, Nutmeg curled up on his soft bed of leaves. Outside, the silver path still glowed all the way through the forest.
