Pique presses flat against the bark of a twisted tree, prickles clamped tight. A rabbit zooms past. Pique winces.
"Oh… I'm stuck!" A tiny voice, from inside the spiky bump. Pique peeks: a minuscule worm, legs all tangled up.
Pique grabs a thorn. Crack. He backs away. Tries again. Crack. The worm groans.
He looks at his shaggy back. Then the thorns. Same hooks. Pique leans forward, prickles pointing ahead.
Pique pushes his prickles into the stems. Click. Click. Click. The thorns part.
The worm glides free. It turns its little head and smiles. Dusk turns purple all around them.
Pique blinks. Wings open wide — blue, veined. A butterfly lands on his snout. Tap. Tap.
A soft wing on his snout. Prickles just beneath. The butterfly stays, perched there. The first stars peek through the branches.
A mouse slips out from behind a root. It doesn't run. Pique reaches out a prickly paw. She takes it.
They wander deeper beneath the twisted trees, prickles open in the last light. The evening sighs.
