Blueberry Shroomy stepped through the round door of her blue toadstool home and stopped. She wanted only one thing: quiet days among her berries. Outside, her little berry-headed sprout still leaned by the path, leaves trembling. Inside, her wooden table lay overturned. Cups rolled across the floor. Blue feathers and claw marks tracked toward the open window. She knew where the sprite had gone. She followed the trail to the forbidden tree at the forest's edge. Its huge trunk twisted up into heavy green leaves. A dark hollow gaped between its roots, lined with torn moss where the sprite had crawled inside. Blueberry Shroomy crouched at the opening. Two orange eyes blinked back. She held out a single ripe berry and waited, breath steady. The sprite snatched it, hissed, then darted deeper into the roots and was gone. She walked home in the cool light. The mess was still hers to fix, but the intruder had fled. For the first night in a long while, her field felt almost still.