The backyard was quiet. The old oak tree stood tall, its branches scratching the dark sky.
Lunette pressed both palms flat against the trunk and pushed. Creak—the wood swung sideways, and silver light spilled out between the roots.
The pinecone tumbled from her fist. Oh, she breathed. She dropped to her knees and crawled through the shimmering doorway.
The ground under her boots crunched fine, like packed flour. Everything was cream-colored and still. No wind. No birds. Just the quiet hum of the moon.
A glowing rabbit the size of a dinner plate hopped up, ears swishing. Lunette crouched low and stretched out her hand. The rabbit pressed its nose to her thumb.
Warm and steady, the rabbit's body pulsed like a slow lantern, gold to blue and back. Lunette held very still. She didn't blink.
The rabbit leaped ahead, guiding her to the moon's very edge. Below them, the entire night sky hung like a dark quilt studded with stars.
Lunette crouched and grabbed a single thread of moonlight on the flour-soft ground. It slipped through her fingers like smoke. Gone in a blink.
The glowing rabbit cupped both paws together and scooped a thread of light up, then held them out to Lunette. She leaned in, palms mirroring the shape.
Lunette copied the motion—palm flat, fingers curling. A single moonbeam settled in her hands, humming like a little bell.
She tucked the glowing moonbeam into her front pocket and stepped back through the silver doorway. Behind her, the oak trunk swung shut with a soft thud.
Out in the dark backyard, her pocket glowed silver against the grass. Lunette grinned. Best pocket ever, she thought.
