The Final Frontier

The last notes of the song, a whimsical cascade of sound, shimmered and faded, like dust motes dancing in a sunbeam. The closet, which had so recently been a vibrant, echoing concert hall, settled back into its hushed, mysterious self. Tumper, perched triumphantly atop a stack of old suitcases, blinked. Spilla, her hoof held high in a final, elegant pose, lowered it with a soft thud. The tap shoes lay abandoned, their brief moment of glory over.

“Wowza!” Tumper puffed, his little dragon chest expanding. “That was… that was *spectacular*!” He wiggled his tail, a plume of happy smoke puffing out. “I thought I was pretty good with those shoes, but you, Spilla, you were a natural! A real hoof-tapping wonder!”

Spilla gave a little snort, a puff of pink mist escaping her nostrils. “You weren’t so bad yourself, Tumper! You really got into the rhythm. Especially when that sock went flying. Nicely done, by the way.” She nudged the tap shoes with her nose. “Those were some seriously loud shoes.”