Togg had promised himself a gift for Grampy, and now the gift was mocking him. The old gnome had fed him all summer, left the shed open, shared his shelves. So Togg swore to fix up the pavilion for Grampy's anniversary party, in secret, before anyone knew. But the chipmunk crouched in the wildflowers and stared at the huge wooden building, and his plan fell apart. He had no idea what the inside looked like. He couldn't hang a single flower without knowing the space. He darted along the flower beds, thinking. Blossoms crowded every stem, red and yellow and blue. A pond sat nearby, its water clear and still. Togg climbed a rock and studied the pavilion's tall posts and railings. Beautiful, yes. But useless to him. Where were the beams strong enough to hold a garland? How wide was the floor? He didn't know, and guessing would ruin everything. Something hard poked his paw. He dug it free from the flowers. A carpenter's pencil, dark and worn, its tip sharpened smooth. Someone had dropped it. Togg gripped it like a spear and looked for the owner. A gnome stood at the pavilion steps, sweeping. He wore a pointed red cap and blue plaid, with suspenders over red pants. Togg knew him. Vern kept the grounds. He cleaned the pavilion every week, whistling the whole time, and he'd never once chased Togg off. Togg dragged the pencil across the grass and dropped it at Vern's boot. "You lost this," he chirped. Vern stopped sweeping and laughed. "Well now. My best pencil, back from the flowers." He crouched to Togg's level. "You've got sharp eyes, little friend." Togg puffed his chest. Backing down wasn't in him, and asking for help felt close to it. But the party mattered more than his pride. "I need to see inside," he said. "All of it. Every corner." Vern raised a bushy eyebrow. "Curious little fellow, aren't you?" He didn't ask why. He just nodded. "Come on, then. Watch your tail on the steps." Inside, the floor stretched wide and smooth. Togg raced its edges, counting posts, measuring beams with his eyes. Vern watched him scurry. "You're planning something," he said. It wasn't a question. Togg froze, then kept moving. Vern only chuckled. When Togg finished, Vern reached into his shirt. He pulled out a folded sheet of bark paper and spread it on the floor. Fine lines covered it, every wall and railing drawn to scale. "The pavilion plans," Vern said. "Take a copy. Might help, whatever you're up to." Togg's whiskers trembled. The whole layout, laid out flat. Vern pressed the worn pencil into his paws too. "Keep it. A builder needs his pencil." Togg clutched the plans and the pencil and bolted for the flowers. He had the layout now. He could plan every garland, every bloom. But the party was days away, and one chipmunk couldn't lift a garland alone.

Togg spread the pavilion plans on a flat rock the afternoon before the party. He tapped each beam with Vern's pencil and marked where the garlands should hang. The plan was perfect. That was the problem. Every line meant lifting, climbing, and tying — work for many hands. He had two paws and one day left. A single chipmunk could not dress the whole pavilion alone. A twig snapped behind him. Togg didn't turn. He waited, tail still, until the footsteps crept close. Then he spun around fast. "Can't sneak up on a chipmunk," he chirped. Delphine froze mid-step, then grinned. She was his best friend, a gnome girl in a strawberry cap, and she caught more critters than she caught herself. A shiny beetle clung to the brim of her hat, its shell flashing green and pink in the sun. Pip. She never went far without him. "You looked," she said. "You always look." "Because you always try." Togg pointed the pencil at her. "Now listen. This is secret." Delphine crouched by the rock. Pip skittered down her arm and onto the bark paper. He walked the drawn lines like tiny roads. "Grampy's anniversary," Togg said. "Forty years. He fed me all summer. Left the shed open. I want to fix up the pavilion for the party. Flowers on every beam. But I can't do it alone." Delphine's eyes went bright. She loved Grampy. She had helped him plant his secret garden. "You should have asked me first," she said. Not angry. Just certain. "I'm asking now." "Then it's done." She stood so fast Pip nearly tumbled off her hand. "The garden shed. Grampy keeps rope and baskets in there. Ribbon. Old wire. Everything we need to hang flowers." She was already backing away toward the grassy mound with the round green door. "Wait here. Guard the plans." "Delphine—" But she was gone, running through the wildflowers, Pip riding her cap. Togg stared after her. Then he laughed. He'd wanted hands. Now he had two more, and a beetle besides. He rolled the plans and studied the pavilion. He could see it finished now — vines up the posts, blooms along the rails, the whole place ready for Grampy and Grans. A rustle came from the raspberry brambles near the water. Berries hung heavy on the tangled canes, bees drifting between them. Something big pushed through the leaves. A raccoon stepped out, wide head, short body, long arms full of crabapples. He blinked at Togg, friendly and unbothered. "Oh, hey," the raccoon said. "You know a blackberry thicket around here? Possum told me south ridge." He looked at the pavilion, then the rock. "You building something?" Togg's whiskers twitched. Delphine had help coming. Now here stood a raccoon with strong arms and time to spare. "Jimothy," Togg said, remembering him. "How do you feel about flowers?"

By midday the pavilion floor was a mess of ribbon and coiled rope. Togg stood back and stared up. The high rafters ran across the peak of the roof, far above his head. Every good spot for garlands hung up there, bare. He and Jimothy had lashed twigs into a ladder, but even propped tall it fell short. The best beams stayed empty. Togg's tail flicked. One day left, and the top of the roof might as well be the sky. Delphine dropped a bulging sack on the bench. Pip clung to her cap as she dug through it. "Twine. Slingshot. A dart." She lined each item up. The dart had a long thread tied to its tail. "Found the slingshot in Grampy's shed. Figured we'd need to throw something." Togg looked at the slingshot, then the dart, then the tall red pillar holding up the roof. His whiskers twitched. The plan arrived all at once. "Delphine. Load the dart. Shoot it up over the high rafter, near the pillar." He grabbed the loose end of the twine. "You tie this end tight around the pillar. Then I climb the twine to the top." She didn't ask why. She fit the dart in the pouch and pulled the band back. "Hold your ears," she said, and let go. The dart shot up. The thread hissed after it. The dart cleared the high rafter and dropped down the far side, dragging twine over the beam. Delphine caught the falling end. She wound both ends around the red pillar and knotted them fast. She pulled hard with both hands. The twine held. Togg tested it with one paw. Tight as a vine. He was a chipmunk. Climbing was the one thing that never frightened him. He gripped the twine and went up hand over hand, quick and sure, until he sat astride the high rafter with the whole pavilion below him. "Now the ladder," he called. Jimothy climbed onto the wooden bench, short body braced, long arms reaching. He lifted the twig ladder overhead. Togg leaned down from the rafter. He caught the top rung and hauled. Jimothy pushed from below. Together they raised the ladder until its top reached the beam. Togg lashed it to the rafter with rope, knot after knot, testing each one. He let go. The ladder hung firm, a path from the bench straight to the high rafters. Every bare beam was now within reach. "It works," Delphine said, grinning up. Togg looked along the rafters. Every one waited empty, ready for flowers. He had reached the top. But the ladder was thin, and the beams ran the whole length of the roof. They had rope and ribbon and one afternoon. What they did not have yet was a single flower to hang.

The ladder hung firm, but every rafter still waited bare. Togg sat on the high beam and stared down at the empty pavilion. One afternoon left. Rope, ribbon, and not a single bloom. Then Delphine snatched up her reed trug and pointed out the doorway. "There's a spring past the trees. All kinds of flowers grow there. Come on." Togg climbed down the ladder fast. Delphine was already trotting ahead, trug swinging. They followed the sound of running water to a hidden pool ringed with soft grass. Wildflowers crowded the edges. White daisies. Purple bells on a woody vine that climbed the rocks. A cheerful patch glowing in the sun, pink and yellow and orange. "Look at all of them," Togg said. His whiskers twitched with the size of the haul. Delphine dropped to her knees and picked without slowing. She loved the vine best. "These purple ones. They'll hang perfect off the rafters." She tugged a long strand loose and coiled it into the trug. Togg gnawed daisy stems and passed them up. They worked until the trug brimmed with color. They carried it back between them, the handle heavy with blooms. At the pavilion, Jimothy hopped down from the bench to meet them. Togg had brought the raccoon into the plan days ago. Jimothy was cheerful and eager and never once asked what was in it for him. His short body and long arms made him a strange sight, but his grin was wide. "Flowers!" Jimothy said, peering into the trug. "Now we can start." Then a voice called through the trees. "Delphine! Delphine, where are you?" It was Grampy, somewhere across the meadow. Delphine froze. She looked at the trug, then at Togg. "If he finds me here, he'll wonder why. The whole surprise is done." She was already backing toward the door. "I have to go before he comes looking." "But the rafters," Togg said. "You climb better than Jimothy." "I know." She pressed the trug into his paws. Her face said she hated leaving. "I'll come back if I can. Promise." Then she was gone, running toward Grampy's voice, cap bobbing. Togg turned to Jimothy. The pavilion felt suddenly larger. He had flowers now. He had a raccoon with long arms and a good heart. But the thin twig ladder needed a light, quick climber, and Delphine was the light, quick climber. Jimothy was broad and heavy. "Can you fit the ladder?" Togg asked. Jimothy set one wide foot on the bottom rung. The twigs creaked and bowed under him. He stepped back. "That won't hold me." Togg looked up at the high beams, then down at the brimming trug. The flowers were his at last. But the only climber left small enough for the ladder was Togg himself, and he could not carry a whole trug of blooms up a thread of twigs alone.

Togg stood at the base of the twig ladder with the trug at his feet. Delphine was gone. Jimothy was too heavy to climb. The rafters waited bare above him, and the afternoon was slipping. He grabbed one purple vine and started up alone. The blooms slid from his grip and dropped. He climbed back down, jaw tight. One climber, one trug, and no way to do both. A blue shimmer crossed the doorway. A brown mouse fairy landed light on the railing, black eyes taking in everything. Togg knew her from the treeline. Hazel Softpaw, the one who noticed when anything in the forest was off. "Saw the strawberry girl run out," she said. "You're hiding something." Togg's fur bristled. "It's a secret. For Grampy and Grans. Forty years." Hazel's whiskers softened. "Grans is my best friend. Then I want it right." She flew a small circle over the trug. "I can help. I won't tell." He studied her. She could fly. She could carry. But the whole surprise sat in her paws now. "Promise," he said. "Not a word to either of them." "Promise," Hazel said. She looked to Jimothy, who was sorting blooms with his long arms. "Good. He needs friends." She said it plain, like a fact she had carried all summer. They went to work. Jimothy braided the purple vine into a long garland while Togg wove leaves through soft ribbon. Then the plan clicked into place. Togg scrambled up the ladder light and quick. Hazel gathered a finished garland in her paws and beat her blue wings, lifting it straight to him at the beam. He looped it over the rafter and tied it fast. Jimothy fed the garlands up from below. Hazel ferried each one high. Togg hung them, one after another, purple clematis draping down in lush strands. The bare pavilion began to bloom. On the last garland, a small white spider crept from a flower onto Togg's paw. Pale, with soft rose markings. He nearly flinched. "Trade," the spider said. "Set me outside. I'll spin your ribbons in place. My webs hold." Togg looked at the swaying garlands. He nodded. The spider ran along the beam, trailing fine silk, anchoring each vine snug against the wood. Every bloom held firm. Togg carried her to the doorway and set her on a leaf in the grass. "Fair trade," he said. She scuttled off. He turned back and looked up. The rafters hung heavy with purple and green. Not one bare beam left. Hazel hovered beside him, satisfied. Jimothy grinned wide from the floor. The hanging was done. But garlands alone weren't a party. The pavilion still had no tables set, no place for Grampy and Grans to sit when they arrived. And the light outside was already turning gold.

The garlands hung thick and purple above, but the pavilion floor was empty. No table. No bench. Grampy and Grans needed a place to sit, and the light through the doorway had gone gold. Togg counted the daylight left in his head. Not much. He grabbed a broad walnut plank Jimothy had dragged in earlier and set his shoulder against it. The raccoon pushed from below. Together they wrestled the wide table upright, then the long bench beside it. The wood settled with a solid thud. Togg stepped back, chest heaving. A table stood where nothing had stood before. But a bare table looked plain. Togg remembered the woven grass centerpiece he'd braided that morning, green and gold strands twisted into a round basket. He set it dead center. Then he ran outside, gathered pink and red petals in both paws, and scattered them across the tabletop. They drifted down and settled soft, a loose cluster around the basket. The pavilion looked ready now. A real party place, waiting for two gnomes who knew nothing of it. Then Togg saw the sky. Dusk. He was far from Grampy's shed, and walking home would eat the last of the light. He needed a faster way. Movement near a patch of clover caught his eye. A round dark shape sat there, chewing. Moe Tunnelworth, the messenger mole. Moe ran tunnels between the gnomes, quiet and fast, always hungry, always chewing something. "Moe," Togg said, hurrying over. "You've got a tunnel that runs near the shed. Let me use it. I have to beat the dark." Moe blinked twice. He swallowed a clover flower whole. "Tunnel's mine," he said. "There's a price." Togg groaned. He knew the price. "Worms. How many?" "Enough," said Moe, and turned back to his clover. Togg bolted for the pond. He plunged both paws into the cold mud at the edge and dug. Worms writhed up, slick and tangled. He grabbed a fat handful, mud dripping, and raced back. He dropped the wriggling pile in front of Moe. The mole nosed it once, counted with his snout, and nodded. "Fair," Moe said. "Follow." He dropped into the dark and Togg scrambled after him. The tunnel was black and close and warm. Togg ran through it, mind already on tomorrow. Tables done. Garlands done. In the morning he'd fetch the last small things and it would all be perfect for Grampy. He came up through a gap near the shed just as the last light died. He slipped through the round green door. Inside, someone breathed slow and even. Togg froze. Delphine lay curled on the shed floor, fast asleep, one arm flung over a basket. She wasn't supposed to be here. Togg stood in the dark, worm-mud still on his paws, and stared. Whatever she'd come to tell him would have to wait until she woke.

Togg woke before dawn. Delphine still slept in the shed, one arm over her basket. He didn't wake her. The pavilion was done, but the table stood bare. A party needed food. He slipped out into the gray light to forage. He worked fast. He toasted acorns over a warm ember and threaded them onto slim skewers, their shells browning until they smelled sweet. He wove a shallow grass bowl and filled it with pale pine nuts. He picked wild lettuces, herbs, and red raspberries and tumbled them into a wooden bowl. Nuts before berries, always, but even Togg knew Grans loved a bit of fruit. He balanced the whole load and hurried to the pavilion. He stopped at the doorway. The table was no longer bare. Someone had been here. A ring of pinecones circled six beeswax candles, their flames burning soft and gold. Beside them stood a tall glass bottle. The wine inside glowed pale lavender, flecked with tiny points of light like trapped stars. Two elven flutes waited next to it, slender and jeweled, catching the candlelight. Togg's fur prickled. He hadn't set these here. No gnome had. He crept closer and sniffed the bottle. Berries and something older, sweeter, that made his whiskers tingle. He'd heard the old stories. Fairies helped those who worked with a good heart. He'd carried this whole plan for Grampy alone, asked nothing back. Now the ridge had answered. He set his food beside the candles. The skewers leaned against the pinecones. The pine nut bowl sat by the flutes. The salad's red berries glowed in the candlelight. Nut, seed, and green, all in a row. The wine and glasses stood over them like a crown. Togg stepped back and looked. The whole table finally held together. It was full now. It was ready. But something still nagged at him. He walked around the table twice. The food was right. The candles were right. Then he saw it. The flutes stood empty, and the bottle stayed corked. Two gnomes married forty years, and no one had poured their toast. He gripped the stopper in both paws and pulled. It came free with a soft pop. He tipped the bottle, straining under its weight, and let the lavender wine spill into each flute until both shone half full. The scent rose and filled the pavilion. Togg wiped his paws and looked one last time. Nothing was missing now. The table was a real feast, waiting for two. Outside, the light climbed toward noon. Togg's heart thumped. Grampy and Grans would come up the path soon, knowing nothing. He darted behind a bench leg to hide and watch. The candles burned low and steady. Then, far off, he heard footsteps on the grass, coming closer.

The footsteps stopped at the pavilion door. Togg peeked from behind the bench leg. It wasn't Grampy. It was Jimothy, the raccoon with the wide head and long arms, blinking at the candles. Togg had asked him to help hang flowers days ago, but the twig ladder had never held his weight. Now here he was again, holding something round in both paws. "Found it in the old stone tower," Jimothy said. He set the thing down on the floor. It was a crystal orb, big as an apple, catching the candlelight and throwing it in tiny spinning colors. "Didn't know what it was for. Figured you might." Togg crept out. He circled the orb. He saw his own worried face bent in the glass. The pavilion was ready, but it was silent and still. No welcome. When Grampy stepped in, the surprise would feel flat, like an empty room. Togg wanted the door itself to greet them. He set the orb near the entrance and watched. The colors shifted as light moved. "When they come up the path," he said, "the light will change. We'll know before we see them." A living clock. Jimothy nodded slow. "Smart." But the orb alone wasn't enough. Togg needed the place to feel alive. He remembered the toad who guarded Grampy's garden bed, fat and calm among the slugs. Togg darted off and found him near the damp roots. "One job," Togg said. "Sit by the door and look wise. Gnomes love a garden toad." The toad blinked, considered, and hopped after him without a word. Jimothy tipped his head. "I know a singer." He whistled twice. A chickadee dropped from the rafters, all black cap and bright eyes, and landed hopping on the bench. It chirped, quick and cheerful, and the sound bounced through the pavilion. The silence broke. Suddenly the room had a voice. Then the light in the orb flickered blue. Togg spun. Two small butterflies drifted in through the door, wings pale blue with trailing tails. They circled the orb, then the candles, then rose toward the beams. More followed. The whole pavilion filled with a soft blue swirl. Togg looked up and forgot to breathe. From the rafters hung long strands of pale gold silk, wispy and shining, that had not been there before. Milkweed silk, gathered and looped like ribbons. The fairy hands again, answering good work. The butterflies wove between them. Now the pavilion sang and glowed and stirred. The toad sat proud at the threshold. The chickadee trilled. The orb turned its slow colors. Nothing was silent anymore. Then the orb flushed warm gold. The chickadee went still. Far down the path, two sets of footsteps rustled the grass, unhurried, close together. Togg's heart slammed. "They're coming," he hissed. He grabbed Jimothy's arm and pulled him behind the bench. The welcome was ready. Now they only had to hide and watch it land.