Pip Tumbleshore waddled across a warm noodle ridge, handing route tips to travelers slipping on buttery curves. A crumpled flyer tumbled against his foot. He smoothed it open. The Great Joy Contest. Winner crowned happiest penguin in the whole pasta bowl. Pip's heart drummed. This was the prize he had been dreaming of. Then he read the small print. Entries closed at dawn tomorrow at the glowing ice palace beyond the broth. Pip checked the dimming sky and grinned wide. He tucked the flyer under his flipper and started running. Tonight, he would cross the bowl and sign his name before the sun touched the spires.

Pip skidded to a stop at the broth crossing. Stepping stones of crusty bread floated in the steaming soup. Vesper Greenpaw sat on the first stone, arms crossed, blocking the way. "Toll," she said. "Something joyful, or you turn back." Pip patted his flippers. He had no coins, only the flyer and a small bright sphere he'd been carrying for luck. He pulled out the bouncy ball. Its rainbow swirls caught the broth's glow. "Watch," Pip said, and bounced it hard on the bread. It sprang high, spun, and landed in Vesper's paws. She laughed, surprised, then bounced it back. They volleyed three times before she stepped aside, grinning. Pip hurried across the stones, ball gone, path open. But halfway over, he heard the bread behind him crack and sink. There was no going back now.

Pip hopped off the last bread stone onto the far bank. Steam curled from the broth behind him. Ahead, the shore rose into a slope of dry noodle stalks. He shook broth from his flippers and checked the flyer folded against his chest. Dawn was still hours away, and the ice palace glowed faintly on the horizon. He started up the slope at a trot. A shape stepped out from the noodle stalks. Vesper Greenpaw again, tail flicking, the rainbow ball tucked under one arm. "Fancy that," she said. "Shortcut through the reeds. I got here first." Pip stopped short. "You already took my toll," he said. Vesper shrugged. "That was for the crossing. This is the bank." She set the ball down and pinned it with a paw. "New toll. Bigger." Pip's stomach dropped. He had nothing left. He turned out his flipper pockets. Flyer. Lint. A bit of broth-soaked crust. Then something warm pressed against his leg. A dog stood beside him, tail wagging, tongue out, eyes bright. Pip had no idea where the dog had come from. It leaned into his side like they were old friends. Vesper's ears twitched. "That," she said. "I'll take that." "He's not mine to give," Pip said. The dog wagged harder. Pip crouched and thought fast. He couldn't lose more time, and he wouldn't hand off a living creature like a coin. He looked at the ball under Vesper's paw, then at the loose thread trailing from her belt pouch. A snarl of colored yarn poked out, half-unraveled. An idea landed. "Trade you a game instead," Pip said. He tugged the yarn free, tied one end to the bouncy ball, and rolled the ball hard down the slope. The yarn spun out behind it in a bright ribbon. The dog bolted after it, barking. Vesper's eyes locked on the tumbling ball and the flashing yarn. Her paw twitched. She sprang. By the time Vesper landed on the ball, she was tangled in yarn to her elbows, the dog licking her face, the ball wedged under her chin. She glared up at Pip, then laughed once, short and dry. "Go," she said. "Before I change my mind." Pip ran. The slope leveled into a path of dry pasta ribs pointing toward the palace. Behind him, the dog barked once and did not follow. Pip's chest felt light. He had kept the dog free, kept himself moving, and left Vesper laughing. That had to count for joy. He pulled the flyer tighter and ran on. The palace glow looked closer now, but the sky above the broth had begun to pale.