Togg's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

The footsteps stopped at the pavilion door. Togg peeked from behind the bench leg. It wasn't Grampy. It was Jimothy, the raccoon with the wide head and long arms, blinking at the candles. Togg had asked him to help hang flowers days ago, but the twig ladder had never held his weight. Now here he was again, holding something round in both paws. "Found it in the old stone tower," Jimothy said. He set the thing down on the floor. It was a crystal orb, big as an apple, catching the candlelight and throwing it in tiny spinning colors. "Didn't know what it was for. Figured you might." Togg crept out. He circled the orb. He saw his own worried face bent in the glass. The pavilion was ready, but it was silent and still. No welcome. When Grampy stepped in, the surprise would feel flat, like an empty room. Togg wanted the door itself to greet them. He set the orb near the entrance and watched. The colors shifted as light moved. "When they come up the path," he said, "the light will change. We'll know before we see them." A living clock. Jimothy nodded slow. "Smart." But the orb alone wasn't enough. Togg needed the place to feel alive. He remembered the toad who guarded Grampy's garden bed, fat and calm among the slugs. Togg darted off and found him near the damp roots. "One job," Togg said. "Sit by the door and look wise. Gnomes love a garden toad." The toad blinked, considered, and hopped after him without a word. Jimothy tipped his head. "I know a singer." He whistled twice. A chickadee dropped from the rafters, all black cap and bright eyes, and landed hopping on the bench. It chirped, quick and cheerful, and the sound bounced through the pavilion. The silence broke. Suddenly the room had a voice. Then the light in the orb flickered blue. Togg spun. Two small butterflies drifted in through the door, wings pale blue with trailing tails. They circled the orb, then the candles, then rose toward the beams. More followed. The whole pavilion filled with a soft blue swirl. Togg looked up and forgot to breathe. From the rafters hung long strands of pale gold silk, wispy and shining, that had not been there before. Milkweed silk, gathered and looped like ribbons. The fairy hands again, answering good work. The butterflies wove between them. Now the pavilion sang and glowed and stirred. The toad sat proud at the threshold. The chickadee trilled. The orb turned its slow colors. Nothing was silent anymore. Then the orb flushed warm gold. The chickadee went still. Far down the path, two sets of footsteps rustled the grass, unhurried, close together. Togg's heart slammed. "They're coming," he hissed. He grabbed Jimothy's arm and pulled him behind the bench. The welcome was ready. Now they only had to hide and watch it land.