The warm rays of morning sunlight filtered through the patchy leaves above Greg’s burrow. Birds chirped softly, and the air smelled fresh and mossy. Greg blinked sleepily, then sat up on his cozy bed of dried grass and soft feathers, stretching his little legs one by one. Today was the day he’d promised to bring Mortimer a bouquet of flowers from his garden. The thought filled Greg with a fluttery feeling—half excitement, half worry.
He peered out of the entrance. The dew sparkled on the grass like tiny diamonds. His daisy, freshly replanted, waved in the gentle breeze, looking cheerful and proud. Greg felt a surge of happiness. He patted the soft dirt around the stem, just to make sure everything was snug.
Squeaky was already there, running circles around the flowerbed. “Morning, Greg! Ready for the big flower delivery?” Squeaky’s whiskers twitched with excitement.
Greg smiled. “Almost. I need to pick the prettiest flowers. Mortimer’s burrow should be bright and happy.” He started down the winding row of primroses, buttercups, and bluebells, choosing blooms one at a time and tucking them carefully into a tidy bundle.
Thumper appeared soon after, carrying a small woven basket. “I brought this to help carry the bouquet,” she said, holding it out. "It’s easier than balancing everything on your paws!"
Together, they worked to fill the basket. Greg chose a handful of pink primroses, Squeaky found a sprig of forget-me-nots, and Thumper gathered some tall purple clover blossoms. Soon, the basket overflowed with color and the sweet scent of nectar filled the air. Greg’s heart felt light—maybe Mortimer would smile even bigger today.
When everything was ready, Greg, Squeaky, and Thumper set off through the tall grass, the basket swinging gently between them. The woods looked a little less dark and a little more friendly this morning. Sunbeams danced on the moss, and even the old gnarled tree seemed to nod in greeting as they passed.
As they neared Mortimer’s burrow, Greg felt his nose twitch with nerves. What if Mortimer didn’t like the flowers? What if he was grumpy again? But then he saw a small curtain of leaves hanging over the burrow entrance, and a little sign—painted on a pebble—read, “Welcome Friends.”
Greg took a deep breath. He stepped up to the burrow, holding the basket out in front of him. Inside, Mortimer’s voice echoed, quieter than before. “Is that you, Greg?”
A shadow moved in the dim tunnel. Mortimer’s face appeared, his spectacles perched on his nose, and his eyes wide with hope. He looked down at the basket of flowers, then up at Greg.
Before Greg could say a word, a loud rustling came from the bushes behind them. The friends spun around in surprise. A sleek fox with orange fur stepped into the clearing, eyes bright and tail flicking.
The fox grinned slyly. “Well, what do we have here? A delivery service? I was wondering where all those flowers went. Someone’s garden sure has been busy.”
Greg’s heart thudded. He clutched the basket tighter, feeling both brave and uncertain. The fox’s smile grew.
“Mind if I see those flowers up close?” the fox asked, stepping forward, her gaze fixed on the basket.
Greg could feel his friends tense beside him. The woods seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his next move.