Submission (#7845) Approved

The forest hummed with soft color as Mavis made her way home.

It was late, though in Silveil, that didn’t mean much. The stars were always out, the sky a velvety smear of indigo overhead. But something about the hush between the trees, the hush between one hour and the next, told her it was time. Time to drift back, maybe make tea, maybe write about the glowing frog in her book, maybe do nothing at all.

She walked slow. No reason to hurry.

Patches of mushrooms dotted the trail like little constellations underfoot, domed caps casting their own light. Some glowed white blue, others pinkish or gold, and a few with soft stripes that pulsed with a steady rhythm like breathing. One wiggled when she passed. Mavis grinned.

“Goodnight to you too,” she said softly, tipping an imaginary hat.

The scent of Sugarwisps followed her through the trees, a lazy sweetness that clung to her fur. She gave a happy sigh. Everything smelled like dessert and moonlight. The air was cool, but not biting. The moss under her paws was plush, and the occasional distant chirrup of frogs echoed like starsong.

She spotted two of them near a log, Flicker’s cousins, maybe. One glowed a faint peach and hopped in slow, dreamy circles, while the other blinked at her from the rim of a mushroom. Mavis waved at them.

“I hope you’re having a wonderful night,” she whispered.

The peach frog chirped once, like it agreed.

She was halfway through humming a tune to herself when her foot caught on something round and surprisingly firm.

"Wh-whoa!"

She pitched forward with an unceremonious thump, landing face-first in a patch of bluegrass. For a second, the forest swirled. Bioluminescent spores drifted through the air where she’d stirred them up. Her nose was full of moss and something that smelled vaguely like old root vegetables.

A small chirping noise came from her shadow.

Her pomu, emerged with a confused bleat. It wobbled around her head like a worried bee. "Mmmrrrp?"

“I’m okay,” Mavis groaned, rolling onto her back and blinking at the canopy above. “Just tripped over the forest.”

She sat up slowly, brushing moss from her fur, and looked around for the offending object.

And there they were.

Dozens of little shapes. Potato shaped. Potato sized. Sitting quietly under a tree in a patch of mushrooms, half buried in the moss. Each one looked vaguely like a pomu, but wrong. Their bodies were lumpy, made of what might’ve been root vegetables or… some uncanny attempt at sculpting one. Sticks poked out for arms and legs, and paper scraps had been tied around them to form faces. Some had drawn on expressions, big round eyes, crooked smiles. One had a mustache.

Mavis blinked. “Oh. My stars.”

Her pomu, still buzzing worriedly, hovered over one of the strange figures and gave a soft chirrup of alarm. It poked the fake pomu with its nose. The fake pomu did not respond. It just sat there, its paper face fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Mavis picked one up, turning it over in her paws. It had scribbles on the back of the paper. Little stars. A stick tail. Bits of moss tucked under its “arms” like someone had tried to give it shoulder pads.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve seen all week,” she said, voice full of wonder. “And I saw a frog that glows like a fireplace ember.”

She looked around. No signs of anyone. No basket or trail or note. Just these odd little creations sitting in a pile like forgotten toys.

Her grin spread slowly.

“Someone made you,” she told the one in her paws. “You’ve got a story, don’t you?”

Her pomu chirped again, cautiously sniffing the little imposter.

Mavis cradled it close, paper face tilted toward her shoulder. “Well, if no one else is claiming you, I’m taking this one home. I’ve got a shelf for strange things.”

The forest didn’t object. The frogs kept hopping. The Sugarwisp scent drifted past again, like approval.

Still carrying the strange little creature, Mavis stood and brushed herself off. Her pomu settled onto her back with a relieved sigh, and the three of them continued through the glowing woods, lit by mushrooms, soft laughter in her throat, and something new and mysterious tucked under her arm.

Just another Silveil night.