Lily Petalwhisper needed one flower to finish her life's work. The century bloom opened once every hundred years, and today was the day. She had spent seasons planning a living gown woven from its petals. Now she stood at the edge of the grove where it grew, and she could not step inside. A swarm of thornbeetles filled the air. Their bites stung like hot needles. Every time her sparkling wings carried her forward, they drove her back. She rubbed a welt on her arm. Her leaf dress hung torn at the hem. Beside her stood Cedarick Greenbow, her best friend, a tall forest elf with a bow slung across his back. He nocked an arrow, then lowered it. "I can't shoot a swarm," he said. "There are too many." "The bloom won't wait," Lily said. "By nightfall it closes for another hundred years." A small creature landed on her shoulder. It had a butterfly's wings but the curled body and tail of a seahorse. Lily and Cedarick had met it days ago on the trail. It had followed them ever since, and now it clung close, watching the beetles. The little creature lifted off. It flew a tight circle above Lily's head, then darted toward a shadowed hollow beneath the trees. It hovered there and let out a high, trembling call, over and over. "What is it doing?" Cedarick asked. Before Lily could answer, the ground shook. A fox stepped from the hollow. Green moss grew along its fur, and glowing marks pulsed on its sides. It was as tall as Cedarick's chest. The butterfly circled it once, and the fox tipped its head, as if greeting an old friend. The fox looked at the swarm. Then it charged. It snapped through the air, jaws wide, swallowing beetles by the mouthful. The swarm scattered and re-formed and struck at the fox's back. The glowing marks flared brighter with each bite. The fox spun and lunged and cleared a path through the churning cloud. "Now," Cedarick shouted. "Go while it holds them." Lily shot forward. Beetles grazed her wings, but the fox drew most of them toward its snapping jaws. She dove past the last of the swarm and into the grove's heart. There it stood. A single stalk rose from the moss, and atop it the century bloom unfurled its petals, wide and pale and perfect. Lily reached out and closed her fingers around the base of the flower. She pulled it free. Behind her, the fox gave one last snap and the beetles broke apart, streaming away over the treetops. The grove fell quiet. Lily held the bloom against her chest. She had it at last. But as she looked at the single stalk, her heart sank. One flower would never be enough to weave a whole gown.