A Pass Without Points

On the broad, level meadow, far from the river's edge, Puschel and Flauschi set out two low wooden markers. The little boat stood safely on a stone outside their playing area. They moved the basket aside, too.

Puschel“One little goal, one little ball and two very enthusiastic Wusels. An excellent start!”

Flauschi aimed at the gap and nudged the ball gently with her foot. It rolled past on the left, as though it preferred going for a walk. She raised her eyebrows and stood still for a moment.

Flauschi“That wasn't quite my plan.”

Puschel ran towards the ball across the dry grass and stopped it. Then he passed it calmly back. He counted neither the miss nor his steps.

Puschel“Would you like another try? Or shall we just pass it to each other?”

Flauschi“Let's pass it first. I don't want to wonder whether every attempt was right.”

So they rolled the ball back and forth. Once it caught on a tuft of grass. Once Puschel's pass went in a completely different direction. They fetched it, moved a little closer and kept playing. When Flauschi felt like trying the little goal again, she had another go. This time, the ball rolled through the gap. Puschel applauded.

Flauschi“Scoring was lovely. But the passes before it were lovely, too.”

Puschel“Then we don't need a score sheet. It wouldn't know what to count anyway.”

Flauschi laughed. When they both wanted a break, they packed the ball and put the markers back. As she picked up the boat, Flauschi noticed a shape scratched underneath its hull: a tree with long, hanging branches.

Flauschi“That looks like a willow. Perhaps it's our first clue.”

Puschel looked along the bank-side path. An old willow really did stand beyond the next bend. Now they had somewhere to go—and a game that had made them feel like a good team without any points at all.