Moonlight Diaries
Pages from her journal — invented entries, honest ink.
She writes by moonlight, in paw-writing only she can read (she taught the owl; he pretends he can't). These entries are invented diary fiction — translated, she insists, “faithfully-ish.”
Entry the first — on the owl
He polished his spectacles three times tonight. That's his tell. Forty years undefeated, and he still has a tell. I almost feel bad. Almost.
Entry the second — on the Long Night stores
Counted the acorns twice. There's enough. There has to be enough. If anyone asks, it was easy. It was not easy. It was worth it.
Entry the third — on the Mystery Seed
It rattles when shaken. Sable says plant it. Bramble says burn it. The label says Do Not Plant. Probably. I've decided to do the cleverest thing: wait, and write dramatic entries about waiting.
Entry the fourth — on dusk
People ask why dusk. Because at dusk the whole forest is in-between — and in-between is where I live. Also the light makes my tail look fantastic, and I'm not too proud to say so.
Entry the fifth — on you
Someone new keeps asking good questions (see: the second question, always). The den door is open. Bring a riddle. — F.