Morning arrived soft and golden, like it always did in this strange new life. Sunlight poured through the windows in threads, dappling the wooden floor. A sleepy owl gave a final hoot somewhere in the trees before bedding down. The kettle whistled gently on the hearth.
The witch was already at the table, sipping her tea and scribbling in a notebook with her usual half-focus. I perched near the window, letting the breeze ruffle my feathers. Today was a nice, calm, and very peaceful one.
It was almost suspicious.
"You're quiet this morning," she said, glancing up. "Planning something?"
I gave a casual head tilt, then chirped once. Trying to indicate the pleasant day, nothing to plan.
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't get too comfortable, friend. Trouble always shows up the moment the tea hits the perfect temperature."
I chirped twice in protest, surely she was just being dramatic.
And then came a crash.
A violent rustle, followed by a distinct "HAH!" like a warrior announcing victory over an unsuspecting shrub.
The witch didn't flinch. "And there it is."
She stood, took one last sip, and opened the cottage door with the same weariness one uses to deal with long-lost cousins or unsolicited salesmen.
Outside, standing in the middle of the herb garden, on top of her basil plant, was a squirrel.
Not just any squirrel.
This one wore a frayed green cloak made of stitched-together leaves and bark, with a crooked acorn helm atop his head. A twig staff was strapped to his back like a sword, and a tiny badge made from a flattened stone chip gleamed on his chest.
The witch moved to sit on the steps of the patio while he stood upright, one paw raised like he was delivering a speech to a crowd we couldn't see.
"I come in dire need!" he announced. "The balance is threatened! The sacred relic has vanished!"
The witch stared.
The squirrel bowed low, dramatically, unnecessarily, and rose with a flourish.
"I am Sir Tiddlewick, Warden of the Verdant Canopy! Defender of the Great Hollow! Bringer of Proclamations! And I beseech thee for aid in our most desperate hour!"
The silence that hung in the air was palpable.
"Right," the witch said finally. "And I'm the Queen of the Boring Teacups."
I flew to her shoulder wanting to hear what the fuss was about, curious really. Sir Tiddlewick spotted me immediately and pointed.
"Ah! At last! A noble soul! Keen of eye and swift of feather!" He took a few bounding steps forward and planted one paw firmly in the witch's teacup, still sitting on the porch railing. "A perch most dignified."
"You have my basil between your paws," she muttered.
"I have trodden only where destiny required," he replied with deep solemnity. "And now, to the matter at hand!"
He struck a pose, one paw on his chest, the other dramatically extended toward the trees. "The Golden Acorn, relic of ancient balance, has been misplaced!"
"Misplaced?" I chirped.
"Stolen!" he amended quickly. "Lost! Entombed in shadows! Possibly… knocked into a log by an inattentive youth, but the truth remains unclear."
The witch blinked. "You want us to go… find an acorn?"
"This is no ordinary acorn!" Tiddlewick snapped. "It gleams with the light of seven sunrises! It binds the chorus of root and leaf! If it remains lost when the dew dries-"
"-The balance will be undone?" she guessed.
"Precisely!"
She turned to me. "This feels like a trap."
I hopped twice. It felt like something else: ridiculous, or maybe a bit silly.
"You know," she said, tilting her head toward me, "you could go with him. He seems your level of dramatic."
Tiddlewick puffed up. "I assure you, madam, my drama is of the highest quality!"
The witch smirked and leaned on closer. "Go on, then. If you want to chase sacred acorns with a talking rodent in a leaf cape, I won't stop you."
I tilted my head, looking between her and Sir Tiddlewick.
And then I hopped forward, a little bounce in my step.
Tiddlewick grinned widely, teeth flashing. "Ah! Yes! Feathered champion! Together we shall journey into the underbrush of legend!"
The witch folded her arms. "Don't let him get eaten."
"I am notoriously hard to chew," Tiddlewick said proudly.
He leapt off the teacup, scurried in a circle, then stopped dramatically at the edge of the path.
"We depart at dawn!" he declared.
The witch checked the sun. "It's already midmorning."
"Then we depart…" he paused, sniffed the air, and glanced at the teacup. "...after tea."