Pippin and Remy both reached for the biggest purple berry at the same time. Their quills and fur brushed. The berry rolled away under a red toadstool.
"I saw it first!" said Remy, ears flat. "No, I did!" said Pippin, stomping one little foot.
Pippin turned his back and marched into the tall meadow grass. Remy hopped the other direction.
A butterfly landed on Pippin's quills. The sun felt warm, but Pippin kept walking faster.
The next day, Pippin sneezed and a cloud of dandelion fluff exploded everywhere. A ladybug crawled over his nose. He stayed inside all afternoon.
On the third day, the sky turned gray and a cold wind swept through the meadow. Pippin huddled in his nest, shivering.
A soft gray blanket landed on Pippin's shoulders. Remy stood there, nose twitching. "It's cold," he said quietly.
Pippin looked at Remy's wet paws — he had walked through the creek. His lip wobbled. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Remy squeezed his shoulder. They shared the blanket, shoulder to shoulder, watching the rain pool on the toadstool.
The next morning, sunlight flooded the meadow. Pippin and Remy walked side by side to the toadstool.
The berry was gone, eaten by a snail overnight. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Pippin offered Remy the last blackberry. Remy offered Pippin a clover sprig. They sat on the warm grass, eating slowly, the basket between them.
