The afternoon sun bathed the winding forest path in golden warmth, and the breeze carried the scent of moss, old bark, and wildflowers that had bloomed in rebellion against the tidy order of the seasons. Mother Goose, wrapped in a shawl too large for anyone else but perfect for her, walked with slow, deliberate steps, enjoying the peace. It wasn't often she found quiet like this—without feathers being plucked, or jam inexplicably smeared on the ceiling, or children reenacting battles with soup ladles.
"This," she sighed contentedly, "is what I call a perfect day."
Which, of course, meant it was about to be completely ruined.
From the treetops above, a loud voice rang out, bright as laughter and far too theatrical to belong to any forest creature:
"BEHOLD, THE WIND HAS RETURNED ME TO THE MORTAL PLANE!"
Before she could even look up, a blur of flower petals and glitter zipped past her—a flurry of limbs and absurd grace tumbling in wild circles down the path.
"Zephyrion!" Mother Goose squawked, just in time for the Fairy King himself to land in front of her with one final, perfectly balanced cartwheel. He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide, cape flaring behind him, and a wreath of vines somehow wrapping around one antler.
"Mother of Feathers and Frustrations!" Zephyrion cried. "You walk with purpose! Therefore, I have arrived to ruin it!"
She blinked at him, lips pursed, then sighed. "Of course you have. Can't let me have five minutes of peace, can you?"
"Peace is a symptom of boredom!" he said with a grin, then tapped his temple. "And boredom is the enemy of magic!"
Before she could protest further, he was already grabbing her by the hand—well, more like fluttering in a tight spiral around her while pulling—and dragging her off the path.
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked, trying not to trip over a mushroom the size of a cat.
"To do what mortals call 'wandering with reckless whimsy!'" he chirped.
"Please tell me that doesn't involve fire."
"No fire this time. Probably."
They traveled deep into the woods, where flowers glowed faintly from the inside and frogs recited poetry (badly). Zephyrion led her to a grove where butterflies told fortunes, and she listened, fascinated and mildly irritated when one predicted she'd lose her favorite spoon.
"Which one?" she asked, alarmed.
"You have a favorite spoon?" Zephyrion cackled.
She bopped him on the shoulder with her shawl. "Don't mock tradition!"
Later, they reached a stream where fish swam upside down and sang little off-key tunes that Zephyrion tried to harmonize with. It was horrendous. It was glorious. They drank lemonade from acorn cups served by mice wearing waistcoats. They helped a beetle queen choose between two hats. They even briefly floated in a bubble powered by laughter before it popped and deposited them safely in a bed of sunflowers.
By late afternoon, they sat together on a fallen log, the world lazily spinning around them in that slow way time does when it knows you're not paying attention.
Zephyrion dangled his legs and looked up at the sky. "Did you know the clouds once tried to crown me king?"
"I'm shocked they didn't succeed."
"They gave it to the rain instead. Said I was 'unpredictable.' Can you believe that?"
Mother Goose smiled, looking out across the clearing. "Actually, yes."
A beat passed between them, quiet and soft.
"You ever miss it?" Zephyrion asked, voice uncharacteristically still.
"Miss what?"
"The days when everything was an adventure? When your sword had a name, and your enemies monologued before you knocked them over the head?"
She tilted her head, thoughtful. "Sometimes. But these days… the adventures are smaller. Softer. Less about fighting monsters, and more about finding the child hiding under the table because their dream scared them."
Zephyrion nodded. "Still heroic though."
"Not always. But important."
Another beat.
Then Zephyrion leapt up, twirled mid-air, and shouted, "Well, enough of that! Time for cartwheels back to town!"
Mother Goose laughed and rose with a stretch. "If you fall in a ditch, I'm not pulling you out."
"You absolutely will!" he called, already halfway down the path, spinning and laughing.
And with a shake of her head, she followed—because even for all his madness, he was a friend.
And today, that was enough adventure for her.