Jackfroot's Berry Run

Jackfroot woke up and had a very good idea.

He would get berries from the Berry Patch — big ones, the good kind — and bring them to every friend in Wan Hundred Woods. It was the kind of idea that needed to happen immediately, which was the only kind of idea Jackfroot had.

He was at the Berry Patch before he'd finished thinking about it.

He filled his arms. He started running.

Jackfroot had tunnels to most places in Wan Hundred Woods. He'd dug them himself over the years — long ones, short ones, a wiggly one that came out near the old bridge. He knew every turn. He could run them in the dark, which he had, once, on a dare, and he'd only bumped into one wall.

He came up through the floor of Kiwi's workshop like a small orange rocket.

"BERRIES," said Jackfroot.

Kiwi dropped his wrench.

A cascade of blue-purple berries bounced across the workshop floor. Kiwi caught three. A fourth rolled under the workbench. A fifth hit something that went clang.

"Jackfroot—"

"Got more!" said Jackfroot, already back in the tunnel. "For everyone! Back later!"

The tunnel echoed for a moment, then went quiet.

Kiwi looked at the berries in his hand. He looked at the berry under the workbench. He picked up his wrench.

"...Thank you," he said to the hole.

Tang's hollow was next. Jackfroot burst out of the tunnel near the big root, scrambled up the outside of the tree — no time for the door — and left a pile of berries on Tang's window ledge with a thump. Tang wasn't home. The pile balanced perfectly, which was a miracle. It would probably stay there.

Jackfroot ran.

Cheri's tower was harder. There was no tunnel to the top. Jackfroot ran up the long spiral ramp — thump thump thump thump thump — and arrived at Cheri's level panting, fur askew, holding five berries.

Cheri looked at him. She looked at the berries.

"Jackfroot," she said. "You've been running."

"Everywhere," said Jackfroot. "These are for you. They're good ones. Bigger than average." He held them up. "I measured with my eye."

Cheri accepted this. She took the berries. She didn't mention that she could already tell they were larger than standard from where she'd been standing.

"Thank you," she said. "There are four."

"There were five," said Jackfroot.

"One fell on the ramp." She tilted her long neck down. Three spirals below, a single berry sat in a crack in the wood.

Jackfroot was already gone.

He came up near Taro's hammock with three berries.

He stood in the dappled light under Taro's trees and opened his paws and counted. Three. He'd started with a lot more than three. He looked back at the path behind him — the forest floor had a faint scattered blue between the roots. Berries dropped in tunnels. Berries bounced off workshop floors. One berry, three spirals down a ramp.

Taro opened one eye.

"Hello," said Taro.

"I have three berries," said Jackfroot. "I had a lot more."

"I know." Taro reached over, slowly, to the other side of the hammock — and produced a very full, very carefully collected pile of berries. He held them out.

Jackfroot stared. "How did you—"

"I followed behind," said Taro. "You go fast. You drop things."

"I was bringing them for you."

"I know," said Taro again. He set the pile between them on the flat of the hammock. "Sit down."

Jackfroot sat. The grass was warm. The forest was very quiet in the way it only got quiet when you finally stopped moving through it.

"Did everyone get any?" said Jackfroot.

"Go look," said Taro.

Jackfroot looked up. The others had found their way to the clearing under Taro's trees — following the berry trail, one way or another. Kiwi with his three caught berries. Tang carrying the window-ledge pile in both paws, somehow still balanced. Cheri with four, and one more she'd gone back for.

They sat in the warm afternoon and ate berries in the grass.

Jackfroot didn't run anywhere for almost a whole hour. It was, he thought, a very good morning.

And somewhere in Wan Hundred Woods, a winding trail of small blue berries made a map of everywhere he'd been.