Pip steps out of his burrow into the wide, golden meadow. A soft rustling drifts from the green trees at the far edge, and his nose twitches.
He takes one step, then another, toward the whispering leaves. He wonders what lives out there.
Pip bursts through tall grass, dodging a fat bumblebee and hopping over a smooth gray stone. A butterfly lands on his nose.
The butterfly tickles. Pip sneezes — a tiny, squeaky sneeze — and the butterfly flutters away.
The sky darkens. A low rumble shakes the ground under his paws. Rain begins to fall, cold and sudden.
He spins in a circle, looking for cover. His quills plaster flat against his back.
Pip sprints toward the forest edge, rain stinging his eyes. He dives into his burrow and tumbles onto dry leaves, shivering.
The rain drums against the entrance like a hundred tiny feet tapping. Pip catches his breath.
Pip curls into a warm, cozy ball deep inside his burrow. The rain drums on above.
Outside, the meadow glistens. The forest whispers through the wet leaves.
Pip closes his eyes and smiles. The storm has passed, and his burrow is safe and warm.
He rests his chin on his paws. Tomorrow, the meadow will glow again — and he will explore once more.
