Woodland Winter Adventure

They slipped between two young fir trees and pointed toward the woodland trail.

Mira stopped.

The trail began where the backyard ended. In summer, it was a sunny path with ferns brushing the sides. Now snow covered the roots and filled the spaces between the trees. The woods looked quiet, but not empty. A woodpecker tapped far away. Somewhere above, snow slid from a branch with a soft whoosh.

Mira looked at the starry prints.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

The footprints offered no answer. They simply waited in the snow.

Mira took three more steps.

At the first fork, the trail split in two. The left path curled beside a frozen stream. The right path slipped under a roof of low branches. Both paths were white and still. Both seemed to hold a little piece of the same bright trail.

Mira frowned. “Oh, dear.”

She checked the left path first. One starry footprint rested near a smooth stone. Then nothing. She took a step farther and found only rabbit marks, like tiny commas scattered across the snow.

“No,” Mira said. “That is not it.”

She hurried to the right path. A star-shaped print sat beneath a pine branch. Another appeared beside a patch of blue ice. Then the trail faded near a mound of snow.

Mira brushed the snow with her mitten. Nothing.

The wind moved through the trees. It was not strong, but it slipped under Mira’s scarf and tickled her neck.

She turned toward home. The red door was still visible through the trunks, though it looked smaller than before. Pippin’s bell gave one faint jingle from the porch.

Mira took a breath. She could go back for a warm drink. She could ask someone to come with her. But the footprints were right there, just beyond the fork. They felt like a question waiting to be answered.

She looked again at the two paths.

“Maybe I should listen,” she said.

Mira stood very still.

The left path had the whisper of water beneath the ice. The right path had a soft rustle in the fir branches. She closed her eyes and listened harder.

Drip.

Rustle.

Tap-tap-tap.

Then came a tiny scratch from the right-hand thicket.

Mira opened her eyes. “Are you there?”

A small brown squirrel popped out from beneath a snowy root. It held a pale acorn in its paws. Its whiskers trembled as it looked at Mira, then at the trail.

Mira crouched down. “Did you make the footprints?”

The squirrel shook its head and tucked the acorn close.

Mira noticed a little hollow in the snow beside the root. It was almost covered. The squirrel tried to push the acorn into it, but a crust of ice blocked the way.

“Oh,” Mira said. “You need a place for that.”

She used the edge of her mitten to loosen the ice. It cracked with a tiny snap. The squirrel waited, watching her. Mira scooped the soft snow aside until the hollow was open.

The squirrel placed the acorn inside. Then it patted snow over the top with both paws.

“There,” Mira said. “Safe and snug.”

The squirrel ran a short circle around the root. A sprinkle of snow fell from a branch onto Mira’s hat.

Mira laughed. “You’re welcome.”

The little squirrel darted toward the right-hand path, stopped, and looked back.

Mira tilted her head. “You want me to follow?”

The squirrel flicked its tail and vanished beneath the firs.

Mira rose. She felt warmer now, even though the wind still brushed her cheeks. She had been so busy trying to solve the mystery that she had forgotten to look closely at what was nearby.

The footprints were not the only clue in the woods.

She stepped onto the right-hand path. The branches leaned low, making a green tunnel over the snow. Mira ducked beneath them. Pine needles brushed her sleeves. The world grew dimmer, but the snow still gave off a soft, blue light.

Behind her, the backyard path faded from view.

Mira paused and turned.

The red door was gone. The fence was gone. Only a few pale tree trunks stood between her and home.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her scarf.

“I’m still close,” she told herself. “I can turn around whenever I want.”

She took one step forward. Then another.

A bright footprint appeared beside her left boot.

Mira gasped. She had not seen it before. It shone like a drop of morning sun on the snow.

Then another footprint appeared ahead.

And another.

They led deeper into the thicket.

Mira followed slowly, keeping one hand near the branches so she would not lose her way. The trail bent around a fallen log, crossed a patch of silver ice, and climbed a small hill. At the top, Mira found a place where the trees opened just enough for the sky to show.

The footprints ended there.

Mira searched the snow. She searched under the log. She even peeked behind a curled fern.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

A gust of wind swept down from the hill. It tugged at her hat and sent powdery snow skimming over the ground. Mira pulled her scarf up to her nose.

For a moment, the woods seemed much bigger than they had from the backyard.

Mira breathed in slowly. The air smelled of pine and cold stone.

Then she breathed out and watched her breath make a small white cloud.

Again, she breathed in.

Again, she breathed out.

The trees did not feel quite so huge.

Something red fluttered above her.

Mira looked up.

A narrow ribbon was tied to a low branch. It was blue at one end and silver at the other, with tiny white dots stitched across it. The wind lifted it, and the ribbon waved like a little winter flag.

Mira reached for it, but the branch was just out of reach.

She stretched on tiptoe. Her mitten brushed the ribbon.

“Almost.”

She found a fallen stick and gently pulled the branch down. The ribbon slipped into her hand.

It was smooth and cool. A small paper star had been tied to its middle. On the star was a simple drawing: three little footprints, then a curving line.

Mira’s eyes widened.

“This was placed here,” she said. “Someone made a trail.”

She looked behind her at the path she had taken. The bright footprints were easy to see, leading back toward the fork. Ahead, the ribbon pointed past the hill, toward a darker thicket where the fir branches grew close together.

Mira felt a small wobble in her stomach.

The ribbon was a clue, but it was also a choice.

She could take it home and study it beside the fire. Or she could follow it a little farther. The thicket looked shadowy, yet the snow beneath it gleamed. A second ribbon, no wider than a shoelace, peeked from between the branches.

Mira held the blue-and-silver ribbon carefully.

“I wanted to find where the footprints go,” she said. “And now I have.”

The wind fluttered the ribbon toward the thicket.

Mira glanced back once more. Home was hidden now, but she knew the way to the fork. She could follow her own boot prints. She could return if she needed to.

She tucked the paper star into her mitten and stepped beneath the low branches.

Snow dusted her shoulders. Pine scent filled the air. The ribbon brushed her sleeve as she passed, pointing onward between the trees.

Mira smiled, though she walked slowly and watched every step.

A winter adventure could be followed one careful clue at a time.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 8,208 words in the full book.