The Race Against the Whirl

The four wooden tiles bounced from path to path in the weather wind. The blossom landed near the spring arch, the sun among tall grasses, the leaf on the slippery autumn trail and the snowflake just before the winter gate.

Flauschi“Let us make it a relay,” Flauschi said. Puschel took a short wooden baton. He dashed through the blossoms, ducked beneath the summer grasses and carried the first two tiles to the crossing.

There he passed the baton to Flauschi. She ran in quick little steps across the rustling leaves, caught the leaf tile with both paws and then carefully balanced across the icy-blue stepping stones.

The wind was already pushing the snowflake away again. From the crossing, Puschel called, Puschel“To the left of the little fir tree!” Flauschi changed direction, slid a tiny distance and caught the final tile just before the winter gate.

Breathless, they met at the finish post where the glass flower shimmered in the wind. All four tiles were safe. Puschel arranged them side by side. Puschel“We have every piece.” Flauschi nodded. Flauschi“Now we only need their proper order.”