Chapter 1 - Buttercup Field
The morning air wrapped gently around Pippa like a soft blanket — cool where it touched her nose, warm where the sun filtered through the clouds. She padded slowly through Buttercup Field, her paws sinking just slightly into the damp soil, her tail swaying behind her like a lazy metronome.
Above her, the sky was half-scribbled with clouds. They looked like stretched-out cotton, or maybe soft toys left out in the sun too long. She paused to study them, head tilted. One looked like a rabbit chasing a fish. Another... a boot? Or maybe a jellybean?
Pippa gave a little huff through her nose. There was no one around to ask. No one who’d play the cloud game with her today.
The field was her favourite place — bursting with buttercups and buzzing things and the occasional flutter of wings. She loved the smells most of all: clover, damp roots, old stones warmed by sun. It was the kind of place where thoughts could wander off and come back with stories.
She paused beside a patch of thistles, nose twitching. A feather was stuck between the stems — long, white, and a bit ragged, like it had seen something exciting. She gently nipped it loose and set it on the breeze, watching it spin and dip like it was dancing its way to somewhere important.
That feather reminded her of something.
A memory surfaced — distant, but sharp.
She was just a pup, still clumsy on her feet. Her human had taken her for her first proper walk beyond the garden, down to the field. It had been spring then too — not quite warm, not quite cold — and everything smelled impossibly alive.
They’d stopped under the old willow. She remembered the way it towered over her, all silver bark and green curtains. She had sat there, ears perked, as her human hummed and traced patterns in the dirt with a stick.
“There’s magic in trees,” her human had said, eyes half-closed. “Especially the ones that watch quietly. You can tell which ones they are — they never move unless you're not looking.”
Pippa had tilted her head then, just like now.
And then the breeze had picked up, and the willow leaves had rustled. Just once.
Ever since then, she’d returned to that tree. Not every day. But often enough to wonder.
That thought tugged at her now, like a thread gently pulling her toward the edge of the field. The buttercups thinned as she walked. The ground rose slightly. The air shifted.
And then there it was — the willow.
It stood just as she remembered. Still. Watchful. Its long limbs hanging down like trailing scarves, brushing the earth. Pippa circled it slowly, her paws almost silent on the mossy patch beneath. The tree felt... stiller than usual. As if holding its breath.
She stepped closer, weaving between two thick roots that arched above the ground like old bones. And that’s when she saw it.
Nestled in the dirt, half-hidden by the moss and the tangled threads of fallen leaves, was something smooth and round. It looked like a button — not one from a coat, but older, thicker, and glowing faintly as though it remembered being warm.
Pippa crouched low and sniffed.
No scent she recognised. It smelled like... light. And old stories. And the feeling of something just about to happen.
She tapped it lightly with her paw.
The button moved — just a tiny shift — and a low hum vibrated up through her pads. Not a sound. A feeling. Like when a bee flies too close, or thunder rumbles far off, or someone calls your name from a dream.
Pippa froze.
The air around her changed.
The buttercups no longer danced. The breeze dropped away. Even the birds seemed to pause.
And then — just faintly — a whisper.
Not a voice she knew. Not from the outside.
It slid along the edge of her hearing, soft and slow:
"The thread is open."
Her ears lifted.
The willow’s branches swayed, though no wind touched them. The ground beneath her paws suddenly felt deeper — like something ancient had turned over beneath it.
Pippa took a step back. Her breath came fast, not from fear exactly, but from something else. That feeling again — like being on the edge of something she couldn’t see but needed to follow.
Her tail was still. Her nose twitched once.
And she looked at the willow.
Not with a question.
But with a beginning.