The wooden truck sits between two best friends in the sunny clearing. They each grab one end and tug. 'My turn!' shouts one fox.
The truck cracks right down the middle with a loud POP. Pip's eyes go wide. He stomps toward the oak tree and huffs, and a single leaf falls from the branches above.
The other fox marches toward the brook without looking back. The two halves of the truck sit split apart in the middle of the clearing.
At the oak tree, Pip piles sticks and logs into a tall fort. It teeters for a moment, then CRASHES down in a cloud of leaves and twigs. He tries again, and it collapses even louder.
The brook bubbles past, completely ignoring him. Pip's fort never stood a chance against the steady, steady sound of running water.
By the water, the other fox sits on a flat grey rock. He tries to balance his truck half on his head. It slides off with a silly SPLAT and lands in a soft patch of mud.
The muddy truck half rests against the fox's paw. He looks at it, then away, tail curled tight. Neither of them smiles. Neither of them moves.
Pip walks across the clearing. Each paw crunches on dry leaves. He carries his half of the truck and holds it out. 'I'm sorry,' he says, voice small.
The other fox's ears perk forward. He holds out his muddy truck half. 'I'm sorry too,' he whispers. They press the two halves together, and the truck is whole again.
The fox with the red bandana grins wide. Pip grins back, and his tail begins to wag. The truck rolls between them, wheels chugging happily over the grass.
They roll the truck toward the brook together. Wheels click-clack over roots and stones. The brook bubbles its approval.
The truck rolls smoothly now, no crack in sight. Pip and his friend share a happy look. The sun sinks low over the clearing, and everything is perfectly, wonderfully whole.