Pippin woke with a big yawn. He reached out — but his paw met only empty moss.
"Mama?" he called. His ears twitched toward the tunnel entrance. The burrow felt too big.
He trotted to the tunnel mouth and peeked into the blue twilight. The forest smelled of pine — but no warm fox scent.
He padded back inside and circled his sleeping patch. Mama’s fur was still tangled in the grass.
A faint rustle came from behind the honeycomb root. Pippin darted toward it!
A tiny mushroom popped open with a soft plop. Glittery spores danced in the dim light. Pippin giggled and swatted at them.
Then a warm paw settled beside him. Mama nudged his cheek with her nose. "I was just checking under the roots," she murmured.
Pippin pressed his face into her flank and closed his eyes. One paw rested over hers. The burrow felt small and safe again.
