Breezy the sloth wanted to help every jittery animal in the woods learn to slow down. But he had one big problem. He couldn't tell who needed him. From his branch, every creature below looked the same. He watched a squirrel dash past, then a rabbit, then a mouse. Were they scared? Or just busy? Breezy only had a few slow days each week to climb down and reach them. If he chose wrong, he wasted them on animals who felt fine. So he tried a plan. He hung a weathered journal from a vine beside his branch. Its painted cover had faded, and its pages smelled of old ink. He decided to write down what he saw. Every animal that passed, he sketched. Big loops for the calm ones. Tight, scratchy marks for the ones that jumped at sounds. All morning he watched and drew. By noon his pages held twenty sketches. But the marks blurred together. He still couldn't tell a busy squirrel from a frightened one. A flash of green and pink spun near his nose. It was Luna, the hummingbird who lived past the flowering vines. She darted, stopped, and darted again, never still for a breath. "You're staring at that book like it owes you money," Luna said. "I can't find the scared ones," Breezy said. He turned a page slowly. "They all look the same from up here." Luna hovered above his sketches. She read the scratchy marks. "You're watching their feet. That's your mistake." She zipped down toward the ground, then shot back up. "Watch where they go when they're done running." Breezy blinked. "Where they go?" "The frightened ones hide," Luna said. "There's a tangled den past the big leaves. Vines all over it. That's where they crawl when the woods feel too loud." She pointed with one tiny wing. "I fly past it every day. It's always full." Breezy looked where she pointed. Through a gap in the branches, he saw it. A den wrapped thick in vines and broad leaves, its mouth dark and low. As he watched, the busy squirrel from before ran right past it and kept going. Then a small rabbit slowed, glanced around, and slipped inside. Breezy's chest lifted. He didn't need to guess anymore. He didn't need to watch every foot on the forest floor. He only needed to watch one door. He wrote it in the journal in his slow, careful hand. "The anxious ones hide in the vine den." He underlined it twice. "Thank you, Luna," he said. She was already gone, a green blur over the leaves. Breezy closed the book. Below him, the dark mouth of the den waited. He knew now exactly where to spend his slow days. But a new worry crept in. The rabbit had gone in scared and alone. If the den was always full, how many frightened animals were hiding down there right now, waiting for someone to come?