From the Forest's Journal

The Last Pebble

Ori has never thrown a skipping stone. He has already decided he will win.

The Glimmer River in early morning. A small stack of flat skipping stones and a little wooden whistle rest on a mossy rock, three fading ripple rings sit out on the sunlit water, and an empty wooden signpost stands in the moss under a big leaning tree.

Three red squirrels play a stone-skipping game on the sunlit river bank. Hazel has just flung a flat stone sidearm and it is skipping away across the water leaving a line of little splash rings, while the other two cheer with their paws in the air. Hazel is the one with the cream-white tail tip and the small teal scarf.

The squirrels of the Glimmer River were having a race.

Not a running race. A pebble race.

You throw a flat stone, and it hops along the top of the water.

Everybody counts the hops out loud.

The most hops wins.

Ori stands on the mossy bank with his hands on his hips and an enormous confident grin, already certain he will win. Behind him three red squirrels pick through flat stones on a rock, Hazel among them with her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf. The river flows past, unimpressed.

Ori had never played this game before.

Ori had already decided how it was going to end.

"I'll win it!" said Ori.

The words came out before he could stop them. They usually do.

The river went past without saying anything.

Twillan Mosswhistle stands on the river bank beaming, a small wooden whistle on a cord round his neck, holding up a wooden signboard that reads START. He is pointing it straight at the trunk of a big old tree instead of at the river, and he is delighted with himself.

Twillan Mosswhistle was in charge of the race.

He had a mossy hat, a whistle, and a wooden sign.

The sign said START.

Twillan was pointing it at a tree. Not at the river. At a tree.

"Perfect," said Twillan.

Ori holds a small flat grey pebble right up to his eye and studies it closely, completely serious about it. More stones lie at his feet and the bright shallow river runs behind him.

Ori looked at every pebble on the bank before he chose one.

He picked a flat grey one, small and cool and smooth.

He held it up close to his eye to check it.

"This one is fast," said Ori. "You can tell by looking."

Then he closed his hand round it, so nobody else could have it.

Twillan stands on a rock with his eyes squeezed shut, blowing his whistle. Ori has just thrown and his grey pebble is dropping straight down into the water with a small splash ring while he watches, mouth open. On the rocks to the left two squirrels' stones skip away in long lines of ripples. Hazel is nearest, with her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf.

Twillan blew his whistle. Race one.

Hazel threw first. Hop, hop, hop, hop, hop. Everybody counted five.

The next squirrel got four.

Then Ori threw his fast grey pebble as hard as he could.

Ploop.

Seen through the clear shallow water, the flat grey pebble sinks straight down towards the coloured stones on the river bed. Above the surface Ori's surprised face looks down after it.

It did not hop even once.

It went straight down, in a hurry, as if it had somewhere to be.

Ori watched it all the way to the bottom.

"That one was a practice one," he said.

Nobody had said anything about practice ones.

Ori has crouched right down at the water's edge, almost lying flat, the tip of his nose touching the water and his throwing arm cocked back. Two small ripple rings sit in front of him where two more stones went straight in. The squirrels watch from their rock.

Race two. Ori had a new plan, and the plan was LOW.

He lay down flat on the stones. His nose touched the water.

"Low is the secret," he told nobody in particular.

Ploop.

He tried once more, even lower. Ploop.

Ori stands up straight with both cat ears high and one finger raised, explaining something, entirely undefeated. Two of his pebbles lie on the river bed in front of him. On a rock sit two squirrels watching their own stones skip; Hazel is nearest, with her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf.

Two pebbles for Ori. No hops at all.

The squirrels got eleven hops between them. Everybody counted.

Ori put one finger up in the air.

"Right," he said. "Now I know what NOT to do."

Hazel watched him from her rock. Hazel was good at watching.

Ori runs full tilt at the river with his throwing arm swung back and his tail streaming out behind him, feet about to hit the water. The squirrels stare from their rock.

Race three. The last one.

A fast pebble needs a fast arm, Ori decided. And a fast arm needs fast legs.

So Ori ran at the river.

He ran, and he threw, and he forgot the part where you stop.

A huge burst of spray. Ori stands in the Glimmer River up to his middle, drops flying everywhere, already starting to laugh. His knees and the coloured stones show through the clear water.

PLOOSH.

This time the thing that hit the water was Ori.

It came up to his middle. It was ice cold.

The grey pebble drops back down and lands on top of Ori's wet hair. Ori laughs with his head tipped back and the squirrels laugh too, one of them tipping right over on its rock. On the bank Twillan blows his whistle for no reason at all.

Then his pebble came back down out of the sky.

It landed on his head. Bonk.

Ori laughed. The squirrels laughed.

One of them laughed so hard it fell off its rock.

Twillan blew his whistle. Race three was over.

The laughing has stopped. Ori stands quietly in the bright water, soaked, looking down. On a rock the squirrels have gone quiet too and are watching him gently. Hazel is nearest, with her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf.

Then the laughing ran out.

Ori stood in the cold water and counted.

Race one. Race two. Race three. Not one of them was his.

Nobody had told him that. He worked it out by himself.

His ears went down before he could stop them.

Close on Ori standing in the shallow water. Both his cat ears have folded right down against his head and his tail hangs low in the water. He is looking at his own two open palms, which are empty.

He opened his hands and looked at them.

Two hands, and nothing in either one.

His pockets were empty too. Ori checked them twice.

Every pebble he had was lying on the bottom of the river.

He did not want to play any more.

Hazel has waded out into the water and is standing up on her back legs beside Ori, reaching as high as she can to place one small flat pebble into his open palm. Ori bends down towards her, surprised. Her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf show clearly.

Hazel had seen all of it from her rock. Hazel saw everything.

She climbed down and waded out to him, all the way out.

She put a flat grey pebble into his empty hand.

It was the good one. She had been saving it for her own throw.

Then she went back to the line, turned round, and waited for him.

Ori has laughed so hard that he has sat straight down in the shallow water with a big splash going up around him. Three squirrels have come and sat down in the water with him, laughing too, their tails soaked. Hazel is nearest, with her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf.

So Ori set off for the throwing line. He forgot he was in a river.

His boot found a round stone with no manners at all.

Down he sat. FLUMP.

The laugh came out of him before he could stop it.

Hazel had won all three races. Hazel sat down in the water too.

Looking down at Ori's own two cupped hands. In his palms are two smooth grey pebbles and a wet curl of bright green moss with a drop of water still hanging off it. The sunlit river is soft and out of focus below.

When he fell, his other hand grabbed the river bottom.

Ori opened it up to see what he had caught.

A round stone. A curl of green moss, dripping.

In his other hand was Hazel's pebble. He had not thrown that one.

All three went into his pocket. It was not empty any more.

Close on Ori sitting chest deep in the bright water, soaked, a curl of green moss stuck to his shoulder. His whole face has lit up, eyebrows raised, grinning, both cat ears standing straight up again.

Ori sat in the river with a full pocket and a dripping ear.

"I lost every single race," he said out loud, to see what would happen.

His ears stayed up.

"Can we do it again?" he said, one breath later.

Twillan has spun his wooden signboard around. The back of it reads FINISH, and he is pointing it at the same big tree as before, holding it up proudly and shouting with delight.

Twillan turned his sign over. Now it said FINISH. Same sign, same tree.

"Twillan," said Ori. "Guess what. I came last. In all three."

Twillan heard none of it. He was staring at the wet green curl.

"River moss!" he said. "You only get river moss if you go IN."

Ori gave it to him. Twillan put it straight in his hat.

The sun is low and the whole river has turned gold. Ori is mid-throw again on a rock and three squirrels are throwing alongside him, stones skipping away across the glowing water. Hazel is nearest, with her cream-white tail tip and teal scarf.

The sun went low and the water turned gold, and they kept throwing.

Hazel threw. The squirrels threw. Ori threw. Ori threw again.

Ploop. Hop, hop. Ploop. Ploop, hop.

Nobody was counting any more. The best part of the day was playing together.

Ori's first pebble is still down there. Still being fast.

Somewhere near you there is a flat stone.

Tomorrow, see how many times it can hop.

Then listen for the splash. That counts too.

For grown-ups