[Pit Stop] Pinku Pearl Hunting

The first thing anyone ever noticed about Prika’s Steps was that they moved. A chain of small islands colored in hues of pale apricot, mint, lilac, and custard drifted in a lazy procession around the much larger island below. The big island was all cliffs painted with patches of honey-colored fields and boulders that looked ready to be plucked and used to draw like chalk, with a central mountain that threw a cooling shadow at noon and blushed violet at dusk. The steps spun around the mountain once each week like a crown of floating stones. Stairs grown from living roots shifted to meet landings and wind chimes hummed in the tune as the waves far below.

Today, when the sound of cheering rose and fell, Pinku stood at the outer rim of the crowd and wished not to be seen. He was hard to miss in truth. A small Mantibab with soft velvety patches of pastel pink and cream and striped horns that arched above from his head like a pair of turned over ice cream cones. His fringe fell long enough to hide his pale eyes unless a breeze flipped it, and his tail, lively, expressive, and much too honest, betrayed his feelings with every passing moment. He wore a little satchel across his chest and had tucked a scarf into it. His coat, a soft pinch of pinks, gleamed in the bright island sun.

Mantibabs held Crederia’s magic in their bones, people said. An inborn talent for catching the shimmer of the world and coaxing it to bend, bloom, and shape. For Pinku, that magic usually came out as soft glows and little hums, useful for coaxing tea kettles to boil or reaching books too far out of reach. He was friendly in a shy way, the sort who would rather set an extra place at the table than ask anyone to leave, loyal to a fault, mischievous when the mood took him, and reliably clumsy, as if gravity had singled him out for special attention. He avoided confrontation like it was a puddle and, more importantly, avoided puddles like they were oceans.

Because Pinku was terrified of water.

He had tried lessons. He had tried to get advice. He had tried closing his eyes and thinking of warm blankets and hot cocoa. None of it changed the way his chest locked up when water moved under him, how the horizon sharpened and the world shrank to the edge between wet and dry. He could not swim. He did not want to try again.

Which would have made Prika’s Steps a terrible destination on any other day. There was so much ocean in every direction that you looked. But Pinku hadn’t come for the view. He and Aremis had been traveling. A little daring quest they’d promised themselves back home based on a recent adventure novel they'd read. Yet the cheering had tugged at him the moment they’d arrived at the Steps, a kind of invisible ribbon knotted to his chest. It unspooled into the crowd now, and Aremis, at his side, smiled.

"We can scout the shoreline after," Aremis said. The orange Mantibab wore a grin that seemed to brighten him like the sun. "Look at them! Whoever runs these games knows what they’re doing."

On a platform of polished wood and painted clouds mimicking the floating island stood the Pawbird master of ceremonies. Bright plumage, brighter eyes, a voice that could reach the back row without strain. They had been speaking for several minutes by the time Pinku and Aremis found a spot along the edge. The Pawbird tossed their colorful arms wide.

"Are you ready to face your fears, my friends?" The Pawbird cried, and the crowd cheered. "We have here a gauntlet of challenges, four games to cure life’s cruelest ailment: boredom."

The joke landed as if this, too, were a game, and the Pawbird laughed with the crowd and Pinku managed a shy little smile.

"There’s the ring races, fliers love it and those who are grounded can ride the gliders if they dare! Target practice, my very favorite, but don’t you let the horn fool you! The wood plank there? Mm-hm. She’s high and for the brave. Walk her with courage and don’t look down. And last…" The Pawbird paused to build suspense. "Last is the scavenger hunt: Pearl Hunting! Come up and register for a test of searching and finding! Iridescent pearls stamped with small numbers are hidden all across the Islands, both floating and water side. The fun is in who finds the pearls with the largest numbers and there are always two winners! Most Pearls found and Highest Value found. Don’t forget about the elusive golden pearl, valued at a point amount that’s almost certain to sway the value at the end." A dramatic lean-in, a conspiratorial hush. "Some say the pearl likes to move away if it notices you getting too close…"

Gasps of oohs and aahs from the crowd. Aremis nudged Pinku’s shoulder gently. "That one."

Pinku’s tail fluffed, then flattened. "But… water side."

"Floating islands too," Aremis reminded him, kindly. "You don’t have to touch the shore. And if you do, I’ll tie a rope to my waist and stand ten steps back and promise to pull you out even if I fall in and a sea serpent steals my scarf."

"Don’t joke about scarf theft," Pinku said, shy amusement threading into his nervous swallow. "That’s a serious crime."

"That's why we carry a spare," Aremis said, and with a little tilt of his head added, "You’re a born treasure seeker, Pinku. If anyone can spot a number painted on a pebble under a leaf, it’s you."

Friendly, level-headed, and cursed with a curiosity that gnawed if left unsatisfied, Pinku felt the tug. He was insecure enough to worry he’d embarrass himself by finding nothing, shy enough to want to do it without an audience, and mischievous enough to want to sneak a win out from under a crowd of bold, loud competitors. Besides, finding a thing that wanted to run away? That felt like a puzzle out of one of Aremis’s beloved adventure novels.

"All right," he said finally, heart dancing between dread and glee. "But if I fall in, you can’t laugh."

"I would never," Aremis said, entirely serious and entirely honest. He was loyal like that.

They filed towards the registration table together, moving in the shadow of taller folk. The Pawbird noticed Pinku’s hesitation and leaned down to greet him.

"Welcome," the Pawbird sang. Their name, written on a badge, was Lelo. "Treasure seekers! You’ll do nicely. Here are your satchels, tags, and the rules, which are mostly common sense. Don’t pry rocks out of the mountain. Don’t put pearls in your mouth. If you see the golden pearl, remember: it can see you too."

Aremis took a satchel and a tag. Pinku did the same, and then carefully tied the tag around his horn in a way he’d practiced to keep from bonking it against his eye. The satchels smelled like clean rope and a little rain.

"Are you both competing?" Lelo asked.

"Just him," Aremis said, squeezing Pinku’s shoulder and stepping back. "I’m cheering, carrying snacks and taking notes for later storytelling."

"Excellent. Cheerers make the events brighter," Lelo said, clearly approving. "And you.." They glanced at Pinku, voice softening without judgement. "We keep a rope on every bridge. If the wind thinks it’s funnier than you, tell it no. And if water is not for your paws, there are still the trees who carry secrets."

Pinku nodded, grateful. He took the map Lelo offered though it was only a suggestion of a map. Prika’s Steps moved, after all, but it showed the general orbit, the larger platforms, and friendly illustrations of likely hiding places: mushroom groves, hollowed stones, tide pools with warning doodles drawn across of potential dangers.

Lelo climbed back onto the platform. The crowd was a splash of color and conversation: Mantibabs with their sleek, bright coats, kantis with their proud horns, skullcrackers who laughed comfortably with their arms around each other's shoulders, Pawbirds who fluttered between groups. Bablings bounced at the front with eyes like stars. A cheerful horn sounded.

"Finders, on your marks!" Lelo cried. "Three… two… one… GO!"

The crowd erupted, spreading across the Steps in every direction. Pinku startled and then trotted after a smaller group, letting the rush clear so he wouldn’t get jostled over an edge. He had three goals in his head: stay dry, stay kind and bring back something to be proud of.

The first island he reached held a grove of mushrooms fat as cushions, their caps the green of pistachio ice cream. Dew dappled them like perfect beads, even in the afternoon. Pinku kept to the center of the path and breathed in the earthy scent, careful where he put his paws until he found the first hiding place and paused.

The pearls, the rules said, would be iridescent. Stamped with numbers. Not huge. "Not hidden where a bab would be in danger trying to reach," Lelo had emphasized. "We boast of whimsy, not idiocy."

Pinku crouched, pushed aside a mossy frond, and found only a family of beetles who looked offended at the sudden daylight. He apologized and tucked the moss back in place. He checked between two mushrooms and under another. Nothing yet. Then his ear twitched. He heard… not sound exactly, but a kind of soft ring just at the edge of hearing, the way pages sound when they’re turned. Mantibabs felt the world’s hum. Pinku had always been attuned to it. He closed his eyes. There. To the left, near the base of a rock.

He eased open a different curtain of fern.

A pearl winked back at him.

It was not much bigger than a cherry, iridescent with a blush of blue when the light caught it at just the right angle. The number inked on its side was tiny, no bigger than a sesame seed. 3. He smiled, relieved. Not a 300. Not a 30. But a treasure was found. He scooped it gently into his satchel.

A babling popped out of a bush and saw him. "Did you get one!?" The little voice vibrated with excitement and envy mashed together.

"I did," Pinku said softly, not wanting the babling to feel disappointed. "But there will be more for you, too."

"How do you know?" the babling demanded, suspicious in the way only children could be.

"Because things like to hide in pairs," Pinku said, and gestured to the opposite side of the path. The babling pounced there and squealed a moment later. "A four!"

"Lucky," Pinku said, cheering on the young bab, his words filled with warmth. The babling ran off to a parent, words tripping over each other in their excitement. Pinku moved on.

His curiosity took the lead now. He listened for the familiar soft ring and found a pearl tucked into a knot of wood on a leaning log. He sniffed the air and followed the faint mineral tang of cave damp to a little hollow lined with crystals; behind a veil of spider silk sat a pearl marked 15. He followed a trail left by some prankster and discovered the prank was kindness: pearls laid at paw level for shorter folk, all stamped with little numbers so tiny that he almost missed them. He dropped a dozen into his satchel before he counted them, surprised at the satisfying weight of the accumulating points at the bottom of his bag.

Spectators lined some routes, calling out encouragement and teasing in equal measure. Lelo swooped to and fro with commentary. "Look at that teamwork there! Oh! An exchange of clues, I approve! No shoving, you two. Ah! Someone just found the first 40! Remember we’ve got two prizes today: Most Pearls and Highest Value. Keep those eyes peeled!"

Pinku avoided the shouting clusters and wandered toward a smaller step dotted with trees that seemed to be alive with conversation. He touched his cheek to one of the trunks and murmured hello. The tree, patient despite the busy day, sent him the delightful scent of wisteria and tilted a branch. He followed its inclination and found another pearl where its roots burrowed into the soil like fingers. 12.

He was not fast. Clumsy as he was, he placed each paw with care. Twice he tripped anyway and caught himself with an oof. Once he leaned too far over a ledge trying to see into a rock hollow and felt the drastic emptiness open below him. His stomach dropped, and he scooted backward on his haunches, ears flat. He remembered to breathe, remembered Lelo’s advice and reminded himself of Aremis’s promise. He was okay.

When he reached a bridge strung between two steps, the ocean yawned under him in a vast mouth. He kept to the very center, both paws on the rope rail. Bablings thundered past with no fear at all. Aremis waited at the far side like a beacon.

"How many?" Aremis asked when he finally arrived.

Pinku opened his satchel and showed him. Aremis’s eyes went round. "That’s not a snack; that’s a haul."

"Mostly small," Pinku said, though he wouldn’t mind finding one with a larger number. But he didn’t want to focus on winning either. The game was to have fun.

"You’re doing great," Aremis said, and Pinku’s tail tried to wag and hide all at once. "There’s a tide pool down on that lip there. Lelo said they placed some along the shore, for people who like a challenge."

Pinku followed Aremis’s pointing paw and felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. The "lip" was a flat shelf on the large island below, reachable by a steep staircase that clung to the stone like ivy. It ended not at a tidy beach but at an uneven rocky shoreline of tide pools filled with sea glass and shells. Between the pools, the ocean chopped and glinted. The sound of water washing itself into every crevice made his knees cold.

"I can skip those," he said. His voice coming out a little small.

"You can," Aremis agreed, warm and calm. "You already have plenty. But if you want to try, we’ll do it together."

Pinku chewed his lip. In books, heroes marched toward the frightening thing because forward was the brave thing to do. In life, a Mantibab could choose. He could stay on the floating steps and search the trees for secret joys all afternoon, collect a satchel of tiny treasures, win nothing and still be glad he’d played. Yet curiosity grabbed him, the way a page begs a reader: turn me. He couldn’t shake an image of a pearl glimmering in a tide pool, number big enough to make a story of. He imagined being brave and felt ridiculous. He imagined failing and felt worse. He imagined someone else falling in and felt a jolt like lightning.

"Okay," he said at last. "Carefully."

They descended together. The stairs groaned occasionally but held firm. Pinku kept his eyes on the rocks ahead, not the water below. At the bottom, Aremis tied his scarf around a sturdy rock spire, tested the knot thrice, and handed Pinku the long end with gentle assurance, "If a wave reaches to drag you in, I’ll pull you back."

"That’ll show it," Pinku said, breath shaky but humor intact. He wrapped the scarf end around his ankle twice.

The tide pools lay in glistening scoops, each a jewel. Crabs regarded them with the brief curiosity of crabs before moving on. Little darting fish flickered like living rainbows. Seaweed twined in soft banners and shells nested deep in the sand like clams. And… yes, there. Nestled in a pool on the far edge, a pearl gleamed. The number wasn’t visible, but the glow felt certain. And that made him nervous.

He could not step closer without putting a paw on the slippery stone near the water’s lip. The very idea sent a tremor through his legs. He looked around. An idea formed itself from found pieces: a length of driftwood, a loop of vine, and the spare scarf in his satchel. Together, Pinku and Aremis made a kind of hoop-net like the kind they’d read about in books. The scarf secured to form a pocket. Pinku guided it forward with the stick while Aremis kept a steadying paw on his shoulder.

The first attempt skidded across the water and caught nothing. The second smacked the surface and Pinku flinched so hard that he nearly dropped the net. On the third try, the hoop slid down, the scarf pocket touched the sand, and when he drew it back, carefully, carefully… a pearl rolled into the fabric. Pinku sighed in relief. Aremis laughed, breathless with shared success.

They peered at the number stamped on the pearl’s side.

"Fifty," Aremis whispered, then louder, delighted, "Fifty!"

Pinku swayed lightly where he stood, eyes round. "It’s… big."

"It’s huge!" Aremis agreed emphatically. "You just caught a star!"

Pinku cradled the pearl between both paws before tucking it into his satchel. He trembled with adrenaline, pride overriding fear. They moved on along the shelf, Pinku remaining on high rocks wherever possible. Twice he used the scarf-net again, each time less shaky and a little more confident.

A babling two pools down slipped on wet stone and squeaked. Pinku rushed toward them instantly, instinct jumping ahead of fear. The water lapped the child’s fur, but the surprise had shocked them into a panic. Pinku dropped his stick, flung the scarf toward the babling, and braced himself with Aremis while the little one grabbed on. A parent arrived the same moment and together they hauled the babling onto dry rock.

"Are you okay?" Pinku asked, voice very soft.

The babling hiccuped, tears already overflowing. Their parent thanked Pinku with a nuzzle to his cheek. Pinku flushed and waved it away, surprised by the way relief could make his heart race faster than fear.

"Here," the parent said after a moment, tone conspiratorial. "A hint to repay the kindness. There’s a song the Pawbirds sing to make the golden pearl calm. Calm being the wrong word, but you take my meaning. It moves when it feels looked at. But if you hum, it listens. Doesn’t stop. But it lingers long enough to be caught by some lucky few."

Pinku’s fringe slipped enough for his pale eyes to meet the parent’s. "Thank you," he said.

Back on the steps, with the bright span of sky and the mountain air rinsing the salt from his nose, Pinku felt lighter, his satchel carrying the weight and accomplishment of points and the clink of bravery. He was cautious about where he climbed. He let faster folk pass. He traded clues with a skullcracker whose grin could have chopped coconuts and they both found pearls as a result and bumped shoulders in good cheer. When a kanti in sleek sea-blue fur tried to bluff him into giving up his tide-pool method, Pinku only smiled and asked after their day until they forgot to be tricky.

A glimmer slid across the edge of his vision then, quick as lightning.

Pinku turned his head and saw nothing. When he looked away, the glimmer returned at the far edge of the next step, a shimmer not like ordinary pearls. Too bright. Too coy. His heart did a little dance. The golden pearl.

Some said it was not a pearl exactly. It had the shape and sheen of one, but not the nature. It moved as if pushed by interest and shied from attention the way some creatures shied from touch. Today the air held the feel of it, one more note in the orchestra of the Steps.

He tried not to stare and failed. The glimmer zipped like a sunbeam. Pinku stilled, then sidled toward the far edge with his head turned slightly, watching out of the corner of his eye. It lingered just long enough to make him believe he imagined it, then zipped to the next island.

He followed, his steps cautious. Twice he lost sight of it and had to wait for it to reappear at the very edge of his gaze. Once Aremis jogged up breathless, he saw Pinku’s focused expression and fell into stride wordlessly. They kept to the inside of the paths where the ropes made good railings. They crossed a bridge through a gust of wind and came upon an island of breezy trees and painted stones arranged like stepping stones.

The pearl flashed, shifting position. Pinku didn’t look at it. He looked at the nearby wind chimes. Thin strips of shell that hummed when the movement of the islands took them past a current. He looked at a mirror someone had left tucked into a notch in some stones. He touched the mirror’s handle with careful paws and angled it so the glimmer drifted into view without feeling the weight of his stare. It reacted and danced sideways, a small confirmation.

He and Aremis needed a plan.

"Hum?" Aremis whispered, remembering the parent’s hint.

Pinku’s ears flattened. "I can try," he murmured. His voice was not what anyone would call grand, but it had a sweetness that belonged in kitchens and near sleeping fires. He hummed the sort of tune he’d use when he couldn’t find a bookmark and needed to put a book back in its place.

He held the mirror so that the pearl stayed on the edge of the reflection. It seemed to hesitate. It moved, yes, but not away. More like a moth refusing to admit a flame was interesting. He took a step and hummed again. Another step. His satchel bumped his flank and he remembered its existence, its flap open. He eased its strap so the opening faced forward unobtrusively.

The pearl drifted toward the satchel opening, curious, wary and too clever by half. A gust of wind chose that moment to barrel through. It thumped against Pinku’s side with the glee of a prankster and sent him stepping back by reflex. One of those clumsy steps that had tripped him a hundred times and would a hundred more and his paw found nothing.

Pinku windmilled. His hum broke into a yip. Lelo’s voice rose on instinct from the left, "Rope!" though there was no rope here. Aremis lunged. Time did that thing it sometimes does, stretching endlessly with too few seconds like slow motion. Pinku’s back paws slid, his satchel swung forward, the mirror clacked against a rock, and the golden pearl fled with an offended flash.

Aremis caught Pinku around the middle and hauled him away from the edge with a grunt. Lelo grabbed the satchel before it tumbled. But the mirror, less lucky, spun into a bush on a ledge and replaced Pinku’s reflection with an upside-down view of sky. Pinku clung to Aremis until the world stopped tilting.

"Okay," Aremis said into his ruff, voice shaking but relieved. "Okay. You’re okay."

"I’m fine," Pinku said, voice squeaky and unconvincing. He pressed his nose to Aremis’s neck for a heartbeat. A grateful gesture and then stepped back. The pearl had retreated to the far end of the stones, a small sun pretending to be a finger of light.

"Not shy, is it?" Lelo murmured, watching.

After a moment of calm Pinku remembered the hint from the babbling’s mother: hum. He remembered how the wind chimes here had hummed. He touched one with a claw, and it released a single note, clear and tender. The pearl quivered.

"Music," he breathed. An idea unspooled in his head, half-practical, half silly. His favorite kind.

"New plan?" Aremis asked.

"Sneakier plan," Pinku said. His mischievousness perked up, the playful part of him that always suggested something just beyond sensible. He rummaged in his satchel for a handful of small pearls. The ones with 1s and 2s and 3s, and scattered them gently across the stones on a curve leading to the satchel. Bait. Then he took up one of the shell chimes, not pulling it from its string but tapping it with his horn tip to raise a tiny melody. Ding, ding. A pause. Ding. He began to hum again, but this time he matched the chime, weaving his own notes with the shell’s.

A pair of cloud-sheep on a neighboring ledge bleated as if to offer harmony and drifted nearer. The pearl brightened. It hovered, then slid forward as would a cautious creature whose curiosity had overthrown its caution but who wished to appear nonchalant.

Pinku turned his head aside to keep from staring. He kept the notes steady. He let the small pearls gleam, unclaimed, like tempting snacks at a party. The golden pearl moved past the pearls and did not stop to investigate the low numbers. Proud, clearly. But their curious glint kept it from making sudden decisions. Pinku tapped the chime again and his hum threaded with the sound to create a melody.

The satchel yawned open to one side as the golden pearl drifted to the last stone, then to the chime itself. Pinku forced himself to breathe normally. He did not move. He did not look. He only sang.

The pearl brushed the edge of the satchel.

A gust of giggles from a group of bablings who had wandered up behind Aremis startled the pearl. It flinched, flared, and shot away, insulted.

Pinku did not chase it. He went still. He waited with the patience of someone who had learned to be patient with himself. Then he took a step not after the pearl but toward a small cairn. A stack of stones people had built for luck. He lifted the topmost and found a pearl with the number 9. He tucked it away, made a show of checking under another rock as though moving on and very gently reached up to tap the wind chime with a slightly different rhythm from before.

The golden pearl hesitated on the edge of the next island. It was not pursued but nor was it the center of attention.

It came back slowly, lazily, and feigned indifference. Pinku kept humming. At the exact moment the pearl reached the satchel lip again, a cloud-sheep let out a very small sneeze. And the chimes, layered in such sympathetic music now, released a harmonic that felt like a sigh.

The pearl paused. But the chimes, layered with a unique hum, drowned it out.

The pearl rolled into the satchel.

Pinku snapped the strap closed and exhaled the breath he’d been holding for perhaps the last ten minutes of his life. Aremis whooped and clapped him on the shoulders. Lelo performed a cartwheel so dramatic one of their feathers came loose and a babling stole it immediately as a prize.

"There it is!" Lelo crowed later, after returning to the platform to tell the crowd the news when everyone had gathered. "The golden pearl has been found! And by none other than Pinku!"

Pinku wanted to crawl under a leaf. He settled for hiding his face in Aremis’s ruff while Aremis laughed, then peeked out with a sheepish grin. The pearl’s weight in his satchel felt heavy, not hefty so much as important.

The final hour of the hunt had flickered past, busy with other people’s triumphs and near misses. Pinku had stopped at a fresh mushroom grove just long enough to help a babling search. Another small pearl was found where the child’s paws couldn’t reach, and they worked together to retrieve it. He didn’t want to be greedy. He preferred a good finish to a rapacious one. Aremis walked with him, telling him stories of things he’d noticed while Pinku was focused on the hunt: a Pawbird juggling shells while two skullcrackers pretended to be unimpressed, a kanti building a tiny dam in a tide pool so a crab could carry out supplies without being washed away.

When the horn had sounded to call everyone back, Pinku’s heart sped up again. Not with fear, but with the anxiety that came he had to stand in front of people. He handed over his satchel to the stewards with both paws and a mumble and immediately tried to step behind Aremis to hide. Aremis had allowed it and became a windbreak with a grin.

Lelo stood on the platform, tidy and unruffled despite their acrobatics. "My dear finders and my beloved audience!" They sang. "We have counted and tallied. You astonished us here at the Steps today. No rocks pried from the mountain. No pearls in any mouths that we are aware of. Great teamwork and amazing sportsmanship. Now! Two prizes. First: Most Pearls Found!"

A drumroll followed. Lelo flourished a paw toward a kanti whose satchel clinked like a cart of marbles. The kanti gave a triumphant bow, tail swishing happily. Pinku clapped as hard as his paws allowed, smiling with honest joy. The kanti grinned back proudly at the crowd.

"And for Highest Value Found…" Lelo continued, pausing to to build the crowd’s suspense, continuing only when everyone where on the edges of their seats, or paws, rather. "Pinku!"

Aremis nudged him forward gently and when Pinku startled, nudged him again with a tender smile of a friend radiating confidence. Pinku climbed the steps and accepted the ribbon. A bit of bright fabric painted with tiny stars and a sketch of a golden pearl, with both paws shaking slightly.

"Want to hold it up?" Lelo asked in a stage whisper.

"Is there…" Pinku hesitated, then forced himself to finish the sentence. "Is there a way to not hold it up"

Lelo beamed. "Of course." They tied it to Pinku’s satchel strap in a little bow, where it would be visible without making Pinku the center of attention.

"If you’d like," Lelo added later, softer so only Pinku and Aremis could hear, "you may release the golden pearl back into the game."

Pinku’s felt relief pool through his bones like water. He would have hated to keep it, not because he didn’t feel proud catching it but because some things belonged to the game of many rather than a single finder. He and Aremis walked with Lelo to a small platform set to the side. There a clear bowl sat on a pedestal surrounded by wind chimes. Lelo nodded. Pinku opened his satchel and slipped the golden pearl out as if it were a baby bird.

It trembled. It glowed. For a heartbeat it remained still and quiet. Then it rose from his paws with the joy of having fulfilling its purpose and floated into the bowl. The wind bells whistled to greet it. The pearl hovered for a moment, listening perhaps, then zipped up and out, a streak of sunlight and vanished across the steps to join the next game.

"You sing nicely," Lelo said while the bells still whistled.

Pinku’s cheeks went pink. "Thank you."

They stayed awhile as spectators for the ring race, which made Pinku dizzy just trying to keep up with the competitors, and for target practice, where the targets floated around trying to steal the arrows. The diving board, the long board that was placed on a high island, made Pinku’s knees feel like jelly, but he cheered for anyone who walked it and then put his head on Aremis’s shoulder, too nervous to watch when they jumped. They ate pastries that tasted like lemon sugar and when the light of day began to dim and the Steps began to shift into evening, they walked the path that would lead back to their camp.

"I’m proud of you," Aremis said, pleased with his friend’s courage. "You were very brave."

"I was just lucky," Pinku said shyly.

Aremis considered that and then answered. "You were persistent and cautious and brave and kind and mischievous. The whole caboodle."

Pinku gave a small laugh. "Maybe." It was as much as he would let himself admit out loud. He had stayed dry. He had helped a babling and made a new song that had managed to capture the elusive golden pearl. He would never love the ocean as other babs did, but he had not let it keep his paws from a game he had wanted to play.

On the way down from the floating steps to the larger island, they paused by a mushroom. Pinku set a small pearl. One of the extra 1s beneath its cap with exaggerated sneaky motions and an expression that would have made any child giggle. He’d kept one for himself, a modest little 5 tucked into the lining of his satchel. It felt right. Not a golden pearl to brag about, not a 50 to point at, just a small number to remember. A souvenir.

"You know that series with the postmasters who deliver letters through impossible places?" Aremis asked as they walked. "I kept thinking of the part where the hero realizes the letters want to go home, and once he understands that, he doesn’t push, he invites. That was you and the pearl."

Pinku bumped his shoulder with a small laugh. Too bashful to answer. "Hot cocoa?"

"Hot cocoa," Aremis confirmed. "And you can tell me every number you found, even the ones you put back. I’ll ooh and aah in all the appropriate places."

At camp, the night picked up with its own songs. Crickets chirping in grass, a kettle on a low flame, the Pages of Aremis’s book ruffling as he turned the pages once cocoa was well in paw. 

The mountain glowed faintly in starlight and Pinku curled into blankets with his satchel within reach and the ribbon a bright stripe in the dim. When he closed his eyes, he saw mushrooms and numbers and the smooth sway of a rope bridge and heard a shell chime hum in the distance. He would be brave again when he needed to be, but for tonight, being small in a kind world felt like enough.

"Tomorrow," Aremis murmured from his bedroll, "we can start that outline for our new story. After a pastry run."

"After two," Pinku corrected, drowsy and mischievous.

"After two," Aremis agreed.

Prika’s Steps drifted on, unbothered by the little agreements of two Mantibabs, pleased to be the place where small acts of bravery was enough to coax gold. The games would begin again in the morning. Pearls would hide once more in the mushroom patches, chimes would ring in the wind and the trees would once again share their secrets with those kind enough to greet them. But for now, a small pink Mantibab who could not swim slept easy with a prize ribbon tied not around his neck like an announcement of victory, but to the strap of his satchel like a proclamation that the day had gone well.