Lina tucked it behind her ear (the way bunnies carry small things) and followed a trail of glowing dandelion seeds she’d never noticed before. At the trail’s end stood a tiny door at the root of an old oak tree. The lock was rusted with kindness—it opened with a soft click.
Every morning, Lina Bunny hopped to the edge of the Dewdrop Forest, where the wild carrots grew in curly, orange rows. But one morning, a single carrot whispered her name. lina bunny
“Lina… Lina Bunny…”