Wren and the Birthday Do-Over

Tick, tick, tick went the moss clock on the burrow wall, and Wren's eyes would not stay shut. Wren was a small turtle with a shell the size of a soup bowl and a head that was very good at being busy. Tomorrow, when the sun came up over Whispering Forest, Wren would be five.

Wren had counted the sleeps all week, and this was the last one, and it would not behave. Tomorrow there would be berry mash with honey on top and a little pool of it on the side. There would be firefly lanterns under the ferns. And there would be the banner, big leaf letters pinned up on the burrow wall, spelling HAPPY BIRTHDAY WREN.

Kai had promised one free do-over too. "Birthday rules," Kai had said, tapping Wren's shell. "If anything goes wrong, you tell me, and you get one do-over. No fuss." Wren had liked that rule very much. That was the trouble.

Under Wren's mat, folded flat and small, was the banner. That afternoon Wren had hurried past the table, and one back foot came down on the middle of the word, and the letter A tore straight through. Wren folded the banner, slid it under the mat, and said nothing at all. Now it sat there like a pebble in a boot.

Wren rolled left. Wren rolled right. Wren put both feet in the air, which usually helped, and did not help. The pebble feeling rolled along inside, round and heavy, and every time Wren thought about the torn letter A, it got a little heavier.

"Wren," whispered Kai from the next mat. "Your shell is clicking. I can hear it." "I'm not sleepy," said Wren. "Is it the birthday?" asked Kai. "Is it the mash?" "It's not the mash," said Wren, which was true and also not everything.

Tap, tap went a beak at the door. "That'll be Ollo," said Kai, "with tomorrow's fireflies." Ollo the owl stood in the doorway with a jar of sleepy lights and two round lamps for eyes. Ollo knew every path in Whispering Forest by heart.

"Room for an owl?" asked Ollo. "There's a lot of fidget in here." "There's fidget everywhere," said Kai. "Wren's got a birthday in the morning and a shell full of wiggly weather." Ollo settled onto the stool. "When my wiggles get too loud," Ollo said, "I count slow things. Slow one. Slow two. Slow three."

"Slow things?" said Wren. "Moss growing," said Ollo. "That's slow one. The moon crossing the windowpane, that's slow two. Your own breath going out and in, that's slow three." Wren tried it. Slow one. Slow two. Slow three. It worked for a moment, then the pebble rolled again.

"Wren," said Kai gently, "what's the pebble?" Wren's small head went down into the shell and then back up again. "I tore the banner," said Wren. "I stepped on the A. I folded it up and hid it under the mat and I didn't tell you." Wren waited, very still, for something heavy to land.

Kai pulled the banner out from under the mat. The tear went right down the middle of the A like a little river. "Thank you," said Kai. "Thank you for telling me." "But there's a river in the A," said Wren. "So we make it a path," said Ollo. "Here's your do-over. We put a leaf moon over the tear and a firefly beside it."

Kai held the banner flat, Ollo pressed a small round leaf over the tear, and Wren smoothed it down with one careful foot. The A had a leaf moon in its middle now. The pebble feeling was gone, and in its place was something light, like a dry leaf skittering off a stone.

"Now," said Ollo, "where were we? Slow one." "Moss growing," said Wren, and yawned. "Slow two. The moon crossing the window." It was halfway over the windowpane, pale and slow. "Slow three," said Wren, quieter. "My breath going out and in."

Kai's shell stopped clicking. Ollo's round lamps went soft and dim. The fireflies in the jar blinked slower and slower, and outside the burrow the ferns let their leaves turn over in their sleep. The whole forest smelled of pine needles and rain.

Wren pulled the fern blanket up to the chin of the shell. Tomorrow there would be berry mash, and a banner with a leaf moon in it, and Wren would be five. Slow one. Slow two. Slow three. The moss clock ticked, soft and slow, and Wren's eyes closed all by themselves.