The woodland schoolhouse sat nestled between ancient oaks, its mossy roof blending into the forest floor. Inside, the murmur of forty young students echoed through sunlit windows. Pip stood at the open door, one foot inside, pressed tight against the frame.
His spines flattened completely against his back. He slipped behind the largest toadstool in the reading nook and gripped his bag of forest nuts until his knuckles whitened. From behind the fuzzy green cap, he traced the shapes of unfamiliar faces.
His gaze landed on a small shrew sitting alone at a desk by the window, methodically picking at a splinter on the windowsill with one tiny claw. Pip's thumb brushed the paper-wrapped bundle in his satchel.
Pip crept forward and held out his nuts across the narrow gap between their desks. The shrew looked up, eyes wide and dark, then reached out and took a single hazelnut before whispering a thank you so quiet only Pip could hear it.
They ate together in the dappled sunlight, the dry crunch of shells sounding louder than any of the other children. The shrew reached into its own pouch and produced a bright red apple no bigger than a thimble.
Breaking it cleanly down the middle, the shrew offered the larger half to Pip. The other children stopped their games and turned toward the desk, drawn by the glint of ruby flesh in the sun.
The whole room seemed to lean in, forty pairs of eyes fixed on the desk. Pip's thumb brushed the apple half still warm in his paw, and for the first time, the classroom didn't feel quite so vast.
Pip sat at his own desk now, the apple half still warm, listening as the shrew explained the rules of the sap-leap game from the seat beside him. Sunlight pooled golden across the scuffed wooden floor.
The familiar scent of pine needles and old paper filled the room. The bell rang, sharp and clear. Nobody noticed Pip flinch anymore.
Pip walked home through the golden forest path, the empty apple core tucked safely in his pocket. Tomorrow, he thought, he would bring more nuts to share.
