Duncan Butterbean wanted one thing this morning: a warm patch of sun to sleep in. He was a round, loaf-shaped cat, orange and white, with one ear folded over like a soft flap. He had wandered into this enchanted forest to find the coziest napping spot of all. But the forest had woken damp. Cold dew soaked his fur down to the skin, and no sunbeam could warm a wet cat. He found a bright patch on a flat stone and curled up anyway. His fur held the cold. He shivered. Warmth stopped at the top of his coat and never reached him. A dry cat naps. A wet cat only waits. Duncan stood and shook. Water flew, but plenty stayed. He licked his side. His tongue could not dry a whole cat before noon. He mewed once, small and cross, and looked for help. A pink glow moved through the ferns. A fox stepped out, pink and white, with a slow shine to her fur. A heart-shaped mark sat on her back leg. She stopped and watched Duncan drip. "You picked a wet morning to be soft," she said. Duncan flattened his folded ear. He did not trust a talking fox. But she did not creep closer or bare her teeth. She only tilted her head toward a hill of trailing green. "There's a dry place," the fox said. "Warm too. Follow, or shiver here." Duncan followed. Cold beat pride. Over the hill sat a nook tucked under a wide mushroom cap. Fairy lights hung along its edge. Plush cushions filled a small couch, pink and purple, with green vines spilling down the sides. A soft magic glow warmed the whole space like a low fire. No dew reached inside. Duncan climbed onto the cushions. The warmth pushed straight through his wet coat. He felt it reach his skin at last. He kneaded the fabric, turned twice, and pressed himself flat. Steam rose faintly off his back. The fox lay by the entrance and did not follow him up. "Dry off," she said. "Then you'll want to see where I sleep. This nook is only the start." Duncan's ears pricked, even the folded one. He was warm now. His fur dried in soft patches, first his paws, then his belly. Sleep tugged at him. But the fox's words sat in his mind. This nook is only the start. He had come to the forest for the softest, sunniest spot of all. He had found warmth, yes. He had not found sun. By the time his coat was dry, Duncan was rested, curious, and no longer cold. The dew had lost. Now a bright new want replaced it. He looked at the fox, then past her, toward whatever softer, sunnier place she meant. He wanted to see it.